Naive
by Xaydin
Summary: Erik's greatest fear was to be a nameless farmer in the time of heroes. Will the cheerful, exotic visitor bring with her a chance of glory? A F!Dragonborn and Erik the Slayer fic. Rated T for mild language, violence, and suggestive themes. Updates sporadically.
1. Prologue

Not unlike many of the small towns about Skyrim, Rorikstead was yet another farming village, filled with nothing but farmers, who would beget farmers, and who would yet beget more farmers, and…

Erik was tired of it. Tired of the weeding, the plowing, the fertilizing, the planting, the waiting, the checking, the watering, and the harvesting, all for some leeks and a few potatoes. Was this the life he would lead? Yet another nameless Nord farmer, who would die having accomplished no more than the successful harvesting of vegetables? He didn't even live in a real town, by the Nine! No, Rorikstead was all of four buildings, with a population of eight, two of which were children. And there was no chance for Erik to wed, unless Britte or Sissel grew up anytime soon.

These were the complaints that ran through his mind daily as he crouched in the field, tending to the leeks, since his father, Mralki, ran Frostfruit Inn. Erik wished that his father would see that his spirit was slowly being crushed underneath the dirt and green stalks, surrounded by nothing but hills and bushes as far as the eye could see. At least he could still imagine. At least his father couldn't prevent him from following the stories of the heroes, especially the great Dragonborn.

How the Dragonborn must revel in his adventures! All in Rorikstead would gather in the inn when the travelers would arrive, bearing news of the great hero. Erik remembered when the news of Helgen had arrived – the farmers feared for their very lives! Dragons heralded the end of days, enough to make anyone quiver. But then, one warm Last Seed night, the quivering shout of "_DOVAHKIIN_" rang out across Skyrim, heard from Riften to Markarth, raising a thin flame of hope to the fearful people.

_Dovahkiin_! Dragonborn! The one to save us all! The people of Skyrim awaited with eager breath as the epic lived on. The Dragonborn learned the Way of the Voice from the Greybeards up on High Hrothgar, finally battling Alduin, World-Eater, on the Throat of the World. He went so far as to pursue the First Born of Akatosh, riding on the back of a fearsome dragon to enter Sovngarde. And then it was over. The Dragonborn returned with the bones of Alduin, which were turned into his distinctive armor. They say you can see him from time to time, riding across the hills as he slays dragons, draped in the bones of their own kind…

Erik had always hoped that the Dragonborn would one day ride by Rorikstead; he told himself that he could accept being a farmer, if he saw but one glimpse of the Dragonborn, his great idol. And one day, he got his wish.

He also got to see the inn's thatched roof catch on fire, as a great dragon blasted it with white hot fire.

It had been your typical Sundas of Morning Star, complete with farming and vegetables (as usual). The bronze dragon that emerged from the earth, however, was not so typical. The people of Rorikstead hurried inside, windows and doors shut against the flying monstrosity. However, Erik remained pressed to the window, watching from within as the hold's guards attempted to shoot at the dragon, their arrows bouncing harmlessly off its scales.

The bronze dragon set the roof of the Frostfruit Inn on fire. Erik watched with growing horror as it alighted on the flaming building, the fires licking at its claws. Some of the soldiers began to panic. Suddenly, this wasn't as amazing as before, and far more real.

A sound roared across the plains, but it wasn't the dragon. It lifted its head, and stretched out its neck, peering towards the sight of the sound. The sound repeated, deafening, and making the house shake. The dragon growled. The guards scampered about, trying to determine the source of the sound. Very few were still attacking the dragon with idiotic determinacy though their arrows did no harm.

"_NAHAGLIIV_!" the roaring bellowed, and a horse galloped into the center of town, its rider pulling at the reins to rear to a stop in front of the monster atop Frostfruit Inn. The guards cleared out of the way, staring at the rider in dumbfounded shock.

The dragon, Nahagliiv, peered at the rider as they dismounted. Erik strained his eyes to look closer, but he didn't have to look past the Dragonplate armor to know anymore.

"Dragonborn," he breathed.

"_Dovahkiin_," Nahagliiv growled.

"_Drem Yol Luk, Nahagliiv_," the Dragonborn replied. Erik could barely hear him through the glass.

"Why are you here, _Dovahkiin_?" Nahagliiv demanded, tail lashing.

"To stop you, dragon." The Dragonborn brandished a vile looking weapon, black as night and pulsing with red energy.

Nahagliiv made a rasping sound. Erik figured it was a laugh. "You are _daanik_, doomed, Dovahkiin."

The Dragonborn took a deep breath. "_FO KRAH DIIN_."

Erik watched, wide eyed, as the frost settled over the inn, putting out the fire quickly.

"Erik, away from the window," his father barked from behind him, but Erik paid him no heed, too enraptured by a sight he had only imagined in his wildest dreams.

The Dragonborn motioned with his sword. "Come down here and fight, coward!"

The dragon roared, its great maw opening wide. Erik was stunned at the sheer number of teeth, and their length. "_Dir_, _Dovahkiin_!"

Nahagliiv spread his wings, and arose from the roof, soaring to land with an earthshaking boom. The Dragonborn let out a war cry as he slashed at the nose of the monster, the blade slicing across its jaws. Red blood stained the front of the hero's armor, and the beast shouted. Flame licked across the Dragonborn, but he paid it no heed, hacking at his foe with great speed and strength.

Erik could never have imagined the techniques that the Dragonborn used, ducking and weaving to evade Nahagliiv's attacks, only to push a sword between its scales and draw blood. Nahagliiv grew weaker, and weaker, each swipe half hearted, the snapping of its jaws becoming a little less threatening.

Erik gaped as the Dragonborn slung himself atop the dragon's head, raising his sword to stab at the monster's face, blood gushing from each slash. He leapt off just as the dragon collapsed to the ground, dead.

The entire town sat in dead silence, the only sound being the whistle of the freezing wind. The guards watched the Dragonborn warily as he sauntered over to dragon and began to pick over its skeleton, pocketing the gold wedged between its scales.

With the sound of crackling, the flesh of the dragon began to burn brightly, and a rush of wind escorted the dragon's soul in the Dragonborn. He lifted his arms from off of his side for a fraction, embracing it as the energies rushed around him, and after a moment…it was over. He walked over to one of the guards and motioned to the Frostfruit Inn, pressing several large gold coins into the guard's hand. The guard nodded.

Erik threw open the door of the house he had occupied, and ran over to the Dragonborn, who was mounting his horse. Funny, the Dragonborn seemed…thinner, than he had imagined. And certainly not as burly.

Two blue eyes, like ice wraiths, stared out at him through the helmet of the Dragonborn's armor. A piece of dark fabric was wrapped across his nose and mouth underneath the helm.

"Dragonborn!" Erik greeted.

The hero looked startled. "Uh, yes," he said, with a strangely high pitched voice. He nodded once. "Goodbye." With that, he galloped right out of town and was gone in a flash, leaving the townspeople to deal with the dragon skeleton left behind, much to the grumbles of Lemkil.

And that was the first time Erik saw the Dragonborn. He kept a knucklebone of the great monster on a leather string underneath his shirt, after slowly carving a hole into it with a small knife. It was carried with him everywhere, and he wore it to his death.

But that was not the last time Erik saw the Dragonborn. This story begins about a year later, on Turdas, the 28th of Evening Star, 4E 204. So begins the new life of Erik the Slayer.


	2. Chapter 1: The Stranger

Erik leaned on the fence, arms crossed over his doublet as he watched the road aimlessly. He didn't really expect to see anything, but it sure beat sitting in the Frostfruit all day, helping his father with chores. If Mralki thought that he was doing something related to farming, he wouldn't require anything from Erik.

Farming. Erik bitterly looked back at the frozen earth of the field. In the days of dragons and heroes of old, he was expected to farm. He wondered how the Nine had decided to put him in Rorikstead; he sure didn't belong here.

The scalding voice of Lemkil caused Erik's irritation to boil into anger. A drunkard of a man, and a louse of a father. Which of his children was he berating now? Britte, who would later take it out on her twin sister? Or Sissel, who would cry at his harsh words, with her sensitive demeanor? Erik turned his head to look, raging internally. The girls had never had a mother, much like Erik himself. He knew the pain that accompanied it: mothers were those who soothed the pains, and openly loved their children, while fathers had a harder time showing it. Erik doubted that Lemkil had any love for his twin daughters, though.

Lemkil was scolding Sissel, whose lower lip was wobbling even though she held it down firmly with her front teeth. The wetness in her eyes only made her eyes shine brighter. As her father finished scolding her, he pushed her towards a patch of weeds, which she stumbled over to, tears watering the thorny parasites. Lemkil walked away, past Erik, who could take no more.

"I'm not saying it's my business," Erik called out, quelling his anger, "but I have to ask." He took a deep breath as Lemkil turned to stare at him with stormy eyes. "Why are you so cruel to your little girls?"

Lemkil ground his teeth under his mustache, the wrinkles furrowing in his face. It made him look positively troll-like. "You're right, it's none of your business. How about you keep your nose out of it?"

Erik struggled to keep a cap on his fury. "You keep on like you are, you'll end up with two daughters who hate you."

Lemkil's angry expression turned to one of sarcastic mirth. "Ha! And what would a witless oaf like you know about raising children?"

"Well, he doesn't look like a witless oaf to me," a serene voice cut in.

Lemkil and Erik turned to stare at the newcomer standing nearby, hands wrapped around the reins of a dappled grey horse loaded down with wild crops.

"I would daresay that this young man isn't misguidedly prophesying either," she continued, her expression genial. The two men continued to gawk, Lemkil spluttering endlessly.

The Redguard stared back at them pleasantly with bright blue eyes surrounded by dusky makeup, a stark contrast in her dark reddish visage. She was only merely pleasant in face, but her cheerfulness made up for her mediocre beauty. Her hair was cut right above her ears, the black strands brushing her eyebrows and the nape of her neck. She wore the leather armor of a hunter that displayed her slender body, with her scarred arms bare and her shins showing, though she wore a pair of fur slippers. Her hands gave away her class, callused and hard with short, thick fingers.

An ebony dagger, rare in these parts, sat on her hip, though a quiver of plain iron arrows was strapped to her back as well. Erik spied an ebony bow strapped to the horse, hidden underneath a sack of green apples.

Lemkil crossed his arms. "Mind your own business, stranger."

"I was only offering my opinion, sir. It would probably do you well to heed such warnings, though." She petted the nose of the horse as it nudged her shoulder, but she didn't remove her gaze from Lemkil.

Lemkil snorted. "Who are you to tell me what to do with my children? Go back from where you came from, Redguard chit."

Her blue eyes became ice chips. "If your wife was still here, I'm sure she would be ashamed of the way you were treating her children," the Redguard said coldly. The way she laid a hand on her dagger was almost casual, had not her tight grip on the hilt whitened her knuckles. "You give a bad name to fathers and to men in general. Go home."

Lemkil opened his mouth angrily but she cut him off. "Now."

He glowered at her angrily. "This isn't the end, bitch." With that, he stormed away, but not before barking at the already quivering Sissel.

The Redguard pursed her lips, clenching her fists in a rage. "I can't stand people like him," she muttered.

Erik looked at her in amazement as she sighed and pushed a hand through her black hair, shorter than Erik's, before her gaze snagged on his face. She smiled and put out one hand.

"Good morning. I'm Siona. And you are?"

"Er, Erik. I'm Erik." He shook her hand, surprised at her strong grip. She gave him a nod.

"It's nice to meet you. Do you know where I might be able to sell this food?"

"Er, yes, actually, up at the Frostfruit Inn. My father runs it. It's a small place, and it's warm, and there are always beds available, if you want to stay for a while, and my father makes the best potato and leek soup, and…"

His words fell off as Siona smiled at him, and he gave her a sheepish grin. "I'm babbling…I'm sorry. It's just not often that we get visitors, you know. I mean, it's not like Rorikstead is Markarth or Whiterun or any place like that."

"I know," she replied. "I grew up in a place quite like this."

"Really?" he asked, eyebrows rising. She smiled and nodded. "Was that back in Hammerfell?" She nodded again, but Erik noted a tinge of sadness in her eyes and backed away from the topic.

"Er… Here, let me carry some of those sacks." Erik heaved the sacks from off of the horse, carrying them up to the inn. He nudged open the door and deposited them in front of his father, who looked at the food in disbelief.

"Where did this come from?" Mralki asked, raising his eyebrows.

"A stranger arrived in town," Erik replied as way of explanation. Mralki's face darkened.

"Hopefully not an Imperial or Stormcloak loyalist."

"No, sir. Skyrim's war is not for me to fight." Siona had walked in behind Erik, with the last sack in her arms. She placed them down gingerly with a huff. "You're very strong, Erik. That would have taken me at least four trips."

Erik flushed. "Uh, thank you…Siona," he said after a moment of struggling to remember her name. The Redguard turned her focus to Mralki.

"Are you the innkeeper here? Erik said you would buy my goods. I'm Siona," she said with a friendly smile. She motioned to the sacks on the counter. "I have gourds, apples, wheat, and potatoes."

Mralki blinked. "How did you get such ripe fruit in the middle of winter?"

She smiled. "It's a long story, but I've come a long way, and I was hoping you would buy my food, or at least barter with me for a few nights and a meal." Erik perked up. Was this young woman an adventurer?

Mralki frowned. "I only take real coin here. No handouts or bartering."

Siona nodded sagely. "That's completely understandable. Coin will buy you the wine you import, not tiny vegetables, eh?"

Mralki raised his eyebrows. "Precisely."

"Well, I have the coin, and I will be happy to sell you my food for very cheap." She gave Mralki another smile – Erik was beginning to find these to be completely disarming in how genuine they were.

They bartered as Erik wandered towards an empty chair, watching the stranger and his father discuss for a few minutes. Coins passed hands and, soon, the stranger had a room for the night as well as a warm stew of venison and leek.

Siona sat by Erik, blowing softly on the spoonful of stew before hastily stuffing the utensil in her mouth. She ate quickly and cleanly, like she hadn't eaten for a day. The empty bowl clattered as she dropped the spoon inside it.

"Hungry?" Erik asked, amused. Siona blushed, her reddish cheeks glowing scarlet.

"I haven't eaten since midday yesterday," she offered in explanation. "It took longer getting here than I thought."

"You were trying to get to Rorikstead?" Erik said in disbelief. Siona blushed again and nodded. "But why? Who wants to come to Rorikstead? This place is a hole."

She hesitated. "Well, I passed here once in my journeys," she said haltingly, "and it looked peaceful, and it…it reminded me of home, so…I figured…"

Erik hit himself mentally. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have questioned your motives."

She smiled at him gratefully. "It's alright, really. If it had been me six years ago in my own village, I would have asked any traveler the same."

"So all the way from Hammerfell. Amazing. That must have been quite the journey."

"Aye. I'm from a farming village on Stros M'Kai. Full of beautiful tropical plants… We grew fruit, mainly, to export to the mainland."

"Sounds far more interesting than leeks," Erik said, rolling his eyes.

"Anything gets dull when you do it day in and day out," Siona stated, tapping her chin. She suddenly reached out and touched one of Erik's orange braids with a stubby finger. "You have the most astonishing hair…"

He looked at her in surprise, and she withdrew her hand sheepishly. "Forgive me. I haven't seen such a color on many people…" She chuckled. "I must admit, I envy you. You are so atypical for a Nord, whereas I would blend in with a Redguard crowd."

"But you stand out here in Skyrim," Erik protested. She played with a small gold hoop in her ear, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Aye." She smiled. "I guess it's one of the lovely things about travel, seeing so many new people around you."

"I wouldn't know such things," he said wistfully. "I wish I could travel."

"Why don't you?" she asked, tilting her head. It made her neck seem longer, more graceful. Eric traced it with his eyes, up to the gold hoop in her ear.

"My father," he said, "wants me to stay and be a farmer. He thinks it's a solid way to make a living, and while he's right, it's also boring. Incredibly boring." He hesitated. "And we don't quite have the money to outfit me for adventuring, either…"

Her dark hand reached out and touched his arm. "Erik," she said quietly, "do you know how I started adventuring, and entered Skyrim?"

"No."

"I started adventuring in the back of a cart, with Ulfric Stormcloak and his soldiers, and a horse thief, on my way to Helgen. I was arrested for entering Skyrim illegally."

Erik's head snapped up to stare at her. She looked at him with her bright blue eyes.

"I was dressed in sackcloth and almost had my head cut off, had not Alduin himself come and destroyed Helgen right as the axe was about to fall. I started my adventuring with the armor I had to remove from a dead Stormcloak, as well as his mace. I traveled through a collapsing tunnel, fought off frostbite spiders, and snuck around a bear, all to live another day." She laughed, suddenly. "For the first five days in Skyrim, I had to live off of cheese wheels I found in other people's houses. Fighting with wolves nearly killed me. I sold flowers to get gold. And now I—" She suddenly cut herself off, and started again. "Now I live very comfortably. Happily, and comfortably. Money is not always the issue. I started without a septim to my name." She reached out and gripped Erik's shoulder, and Erik again was reminded of her strong grasp. "You'll find a way. You'll always find a way. That's the point of it all: overcoming whatever the universe has to throw at you."

She yawned and stood up, rubbing the back of her neck. Erik watched the way the firelight flickered in her eyes, making the blue flash and glimmer. "Well, goodnight, Erik. I'll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early."

With that, Siona trotted off to her room, the door closing behind her. Erik sat in the chair for several moments more before standing to go to bed. However, Mralki stopped him, his eyebrows rising significantly.

"What?" Erik asked blankly.

"So, why the sudden interest in the girl?" Mralki asked suspiciously. Erik locked with his father's piercing stare.

"Well, it's not like we get many travelers out here, Father," he replied stiffly. "Am I not allowed to be interested? After all, it's not like I'm ever going to see the world outside of this miserable plot of earth."

"Watch your tone," Mralki growled. His expression suddenly softened and he sighed. "It's dangerous out there, Erik. I just don't want you getting hurt," he said softly. Erik's shoulder sagged, and he nodded. Mralki gave him an affectionate clap on the shoulder and turned back to tend to the counter.

Erik stared at the ceiling in his room, his mind reeling. A Redguard, one from Stros M'Kai! And those eyes… They seemed so familiar…

He turned on his side, facing the wall as he pulled up the furs around himself. This inn was so drafty. They would have to fix that sometime… He suddenly felt guilty. Adventuring would leave his father with so much work here at the inn, and while Erik loathed doing his chores, he was needed.

He sighed in frustration. He really was stuck in Rorikstead forever.


	3. Chapter 2: Celebrations

Siona dug at the earth with cheerful determination, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. She looked up at the Redguard standing by. "How much deeper do you want the pit, Ennis?"

He glanced over at her. "I think it's about ready, actually." Ennis smiled broadly at her. He had reconnected with his homeland over a pint of mead at the Frostfruit, smiling in happiness as Siona had recounted the sights of Hammerfell. Siona leaned on the shovel, exchanging frosty glances with Lemkil, who had also helped with the digging of the bonfire pit.

It was Morndas, the 1st of Morning Star and the day of the New Life Festival. Here in Rorikstead, there would be a great bonfire, for the first time. Before then, the inhabitants of Rorikstead would gather within the Frostfruit Inn to partake in the free ale, and jolliness would abound, even from Reldith, who found anything but farming to be a waste. However, the change was prompted by Siona's suggestion, and welcomed by everyone save Lemkil, who was still nursing a grudge.

Erik had resigned himself to staying in Rorikstead, though it pained him to do so. He had realized that he would never be able to afford the armor, and his father probably couldn't bear to support the inn on his own. Erik had thus been depressed over the past few days, and Siona was worried about him.

She glanced over at where her red headed friend was viciously chopping wood, each axe fall executed with a vicious hack. Chewing her lip, she placed the shovel on the ground and walked over to the woodpile, picking up an armful.

"So are you excited for the bonfire tonight?" she asked, trying to balance the load in her arms. Erik looked up at her, a vague expression of bitter disappointment on his face.

"Yes, I suppose," he muttered, before heaving the axe to let it fall with a loud clunk. Siona's lips pursed worriedly.

"Do you want to help me set it up?" She glanced at the very large pile of wood – it would probably last the whole town the entire winter. "I'm sure you've chopped enough."

Erik dropped the axe and scooped up the wood in his arms, trudging over to the bonfire pit. Siona sighed and followed, following his lead silently as they prepared for the evening.

. . .

When the sun had set over the fields, the people of Rorikstead were merrily celebrating, adults with ale, and Sissel and Britte with sweetrolls and honey nut treats, made especially by Mralki. They sat around the bonfire, laughing and singing along to the mediocre music playing of Ennis on a battered red lute, accompanied by the normally stern and disciplined Reldith drumming along on an upturned pot. A few hunters from nearby parties had come to Rorikstead, eager to join in the celebrations.

The only sour one was Lemkil, sitting on a stump and staring at the contents of his weather-beaten tankard. Every once in a while he would snap at a passing reveler, much like a sorry, mangy dog. Rorik and Jouane Manette could be seeing watching him carefully, and it was murmured that no one would want to be in the shoes of poor Britte or Sissel when Lemkil had a hangover.

Erik busily set himself to asking the hunters of their travels. One, a beautifully Nord, stated that she was from Markarth, watching Erik under her thick eyelashes. He quickly sat her down and began asking questions, his expression rapt as she recounted descriptions of the stone city of Dwemer make, twirling a stray bit of brown hair around one finger.

Siona balanced the sleeping Sissel on her lap as she hummed a lullaby. It was the same one her mother had sung to her when she was a child, and the one she had sung to her baby sister. _Malexa would have been fifteen, now_, she thought sorrowfully. She attempted to wipe off the sticky mess left behind by Sissel's half eaten sweetroll, but to no avail.

"Are you enjoying your New Life Festival here in Skyrim?" a voice asked from above.

Siona looked up at Mralki, who was wiping out a mug with a clean rag. He placed it on the table they had moved out to the field to hold the ale. Sitting down beside her on the log, he raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Yes, I have to say I am," she said after a moment. She chuckled. "It's actually the first time I've celebrated it in about five years, since I left Stros M'Kai."

"Really, now? You were too busy?"

Siona shrugged with a smile. "There was an entire countryside to explore. I thought festivals were a waste, with so much land to see, and so many things to do." She shifted Sissel carefully. The young brunette child mumbled to herself before her breathing evened out again. Siona looked up at Mralki. "When you're fighting for your life, festivals aren't always the first thing on your mind."

"Adventuring is a dangerous thing," Mralki said matter-of-factly. Siona looked up at him and sighed.

"It is to a point. But it's a good thing. A life without danger isn't really a life at all." She tilted her head to look at Mralki. "Before you were an innkeeper, what did you do?"

Mralki blinked. "Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to know." She lifted a mug of water to her mouth, trying her best not to watch his expression closely.

He gazed at her before opening his mouth. "I travelled with a group of vigilantes. We routed out bandits and their camps all along Whiterun Hold and the Reach." He smiled nostalgically. "My best friend Arnleif and I were the terror of rogues around.

"Arnleif, that old fool. He was a man by the time I joined, had a wife and daughter back in Markarth." He shook his head. "Finally settled down and got a store after his fifth child, the only boy! He was happier than a horker in the water." Mralki was lost in his memories. "Markarth was where I met my Runa. She was working for some hag of a woman at an apothecary's shop. She had hair like fire…" he said wistfully.

"I gave up my bandit chasing for her. Arnleif practically laughed me out of the tavern when I told him, but understood, thankfully.

"The old man died about twenty years ago, when Erik was about five." Mralki stared into the bonfire. Suddenly, the merriment surrounding them seemed distant. "Erik's all I have of my Runa. She died in childbirth…" He was quiet for a moment. "I tried to give him the best, keep him safe, and let him have a good life. There are not many happy people in Rorikstead, and I know it." He sighed.

"I've been to Markarth, and Whiterun, and Windhelm. I've gone into the haunted cairns that bandits laid their camps in, and I have more scars on my backside than I care to count. If you told me then that the best years of my life were going to be when I was running an inn in some backwoods farming town, I would have laughed at you and then I would have split you down the middle. But now my sword is broken, and my heart's not in the adventuring anymore."

Mralki and Siona sat side quietly side by side, staring into the flickering flames that seemed to beckon to the sky. The chatter didn't stop, but it seemed muted and far away, rather than a few feet from the two.

"I think you should let Erik go adventuring," Siona said after a moment. Mralki's head swiveled to stare at the Redguard.

"My son's been talking to you, hasn't he?" he asked suspiciously.

"He didn't have to," she replied, her gaze trained on the sky. "Have you noticed the way that he's been acting lately?"

Mralki hesitated, glancing at his son, who was still listening to the beautiful hunter intently. "He's been a bit depressed," he admitted.

"He's resigned himself to staying here," she said in a low voice. "And the thought that he'll never see the world around him makes him feel empty."

The innkeeper paused, scratching his eyebrow. "The world is a dangerous place…" he said uncertainly.

"The same world you risked your life in when you were young," Sonia reminded him, turning her head to look at the man. "I promise you, Erik is smart. He's not foolish or prideful enough to get himself into more danger than he can handle."

Mralki paused and sighed. "You're right, you know. I just…he would need to be outfitted with armor, and a weapon, and…we could go all the way to Whiterun, but…"

Siona held up a hand. "Say no more." She passed Sissel to Mralki and hurried inside the inn, returning a few moments later with a small sack. She passed it to Mralki, and took back Sissel, who nuzzled her still sticky face into the Redguard's shoulder.

Mralki opened the pouch and stared at the glittering gold. "Where did you get this?" he whispered, hushed. Siona smiled and put a finger to her lips.

"That's my secret. But I assure you, it's all gotten honestly."

"I can't accept this, especially from a stranger!" Mralki began to push the sack back at Siona, but she placed a callused hand over his and returned the gesture.

"I'm your friend, sir," she said quietly. "And your son's. And if that's not enough, I will personally watch over your inn for you while you go to Whiterun with him. I'll even fix some of the things I've heard you complaining about to Erik."

The top of Mralki's head flamed up, but he frowned. "How can I trust you, though? You've only been in town for five days."

"I swear on the Nine Divines," she said quietly. "And on the graves of my family in Stros M'Kai."

Mralki looked at her, studying her face carefully. "Alright," he stated after a moment. "I'll tell Erik that we're heading out for Whiterun tomorrow. And I'll leave you a list of things to do around here, and when I come back, I expect them all to be done. If they're not, you'll have to pay me extra for the hassle."

Siona's grin seemed brighter than the bonfire. "Thank you, sir, on behalf of your son. You won't regret it." She paused, and then beamed. "He's a fine young man."

"I certainly like to think so. Now, if you'll excuse me, miss." Mralki stood and walked over to Erik, placing a hand on his shoulder. Siona watched through the shimmering air, arms around Sissel, as Erik's face went from concern to shock to exuberant. Siona could hear his whoop of joy over the sound of the dusty lute, and laughed.

Sissel awoke and yawned. "Miss Siona?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Yes, Sissel?"

"I'm going home, to bed." The little girl clambered off of Siona's lap and stood on shaky legs.

"You do that, little one." Siona reached out and squeezed the child's hand before Sissel stumbled away towards her house. Siona watched her go, never taking her eyes away until the door was shut behind her.

Two strong arms suddenly lifted her up and into the air, squeezing her to a burly chest. She gasped as she went around in a dizzy circle before being put back on the ground.

Erik's smiling face greeted her, his hands on her shoulders. "Thank you!" he crowed. "I know my father would never have agreed to let me go if it wasn't for you." His smile was infectious as he practically danced where he stood, feet twitching. "I could kiss you right now! Just, thank you, Siona, thank you so much!" He squeezed her again – she was certain her lungs would explode – before releasing her and heading off towards the inn.

She smiled as he left, running a hand through her thick, short hair. New Life Festival indeed. Aptly named, for Erik today.


	4. Chapter 3: Dragonborn

The low light flickered across the inn, barely illuminating the faces there as the people of Rorikstead enjoyed a tankard of Blackbriar mead. Siona polished the tankard halfheartedly, already a bit bored. Erik and Mralki had been gone for about two weeks; she had finished the last of Mralki's chores with animated gusto a couple of days ago, throwing the cursed list in the fire. She had nearly broken her neck thatching the hole in the roof, and the skeever bite she had gotten performing pest control on the root cellar looked a bit infected. She was happy to set that little bugger aflame with a well placed fireball. Well, at least Erik would be happy. She smiled to herself at the thought.

She looked up as the door to the Frostfruit opened, letting a gust of chilly air. Her growing smile slackened a bit as the pretty hunter from the New Life Festival entered, carrying a few pounds of venison. She placed it on the counter and looked at Siona, her big, doe-like eyes glinting in confusion.

"You're not the innkeeper," she said matter-of-factly.

"No, he's in Whiterun with his son. I'm filling in for him while he's gone." Siona continued to polish the tankard in her hands. "I'm Siona."

"I recognize you. You were at the New Life Festival, with the kid." The hunter leaned on the counter, giving Siona a full view of ample cleavage. The Redguard's mouth twitched in annoyance. "I didn't know you lived here."

"I don't. I'm just staying here for a few weeks, and I'm helping out the innkeeper." She paused. "It reminds me of home."

"Mm," the hunter replied, obviously not listening to her. "That cute redhead hugged you at the festival." She paused, twirling a brunette curl around a slender finger. Her hands looked too smooth to have been hunting; Siona wondered if she wore gloves to prevent calluses. She had a Stormcloak friend who did the same. "What was his name again? Erik. That was it." She glanced around the inn. "Where is he? I wouldn't mind a, uh, chat with him."

Siona's hands clenched around the tankard, her knuckles white as she set it down and picked up another one. "He's in Whiterun, with his father." She tried to relax her gritted teeth.

The hunter looked at her blankly before nodding. "Shame. I was hoping to get to know him better."

"How much do you want for the venison?" Siona asked gruffly.

"Oh. I was hoping twenty septims for the lot."

"With the size of this? It's far too small. But I am willing to give you eight. Anyone else would give you five."

"Fifteen?"

"Ten."

"Yes, ten."

As Siona counted out the money, the hunter continued to twirl her hair around her finger. Siona noticed her fingernails were perfectly clipped and shone. What hunter manicured their nails?

"What's Erik doing in Whiterun, anyways?"

Siona wrapped up the venison slowly. "He's purchasing armor."

"What's a farmer need armor for?" the hunter asked, bemused. Siona stowed away the venison.

"Erik's not going to be a farmer. He's going to be an adventurer." Siona glanced up at the hunter, picking up her half polished tankard.

The hunter grinned, her brown eyes sparkling. "An adventurer, eh?" She leaned her head. "Maybe he could adventure with me sometimes. There's nothing quite like the sight of the northern lights illuminating a tent, you know what I mean?"

The sound of the tankard slamming against the counter made everyone jump. The rage on Siona's normally cheerful face made them recoil.

"I'm only going to say this once, and you better heed what I have to say," Siona seethed, leaning forward to stare the hunter right in the face. "Erik is a kind, and incredibly naive young man. He doesn't know anything about the outside world.

"I've been traveling Skyrim for four years now. I've met enough people like you - people who use their looks to beguile and seduce and are only after one thing - to know that you'll do nothing but hurt him. He would give you his heart in a second and you would just break it, chasing after the next big thing."

Siona jabbed at the air in front of the hunter's face. "Erik is my friend, and the last thing I'll let you do is hurt him, and if you come near him with any thoughts of bedding him, I'm not afraid to pull every last piece of hair out of your pretty little head, piece by piece. Are we clear?"

The inn was silent as the hunter stared back at the Redguard with a mix of shock and anger. Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

"Sounds like someone's got designs on him," the hunter replied shrewdly. Siona stared back at her, spluttering wordlessly.

"No!" she finally stated.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," the hunter replied sarcastically, shouldering her pack and marching out the door. The door practically shook as it slammed into place. Siona picked up the tankard and violently began polishing it, muttering to herself viciously.

Ennis sidled up to the counter with an empty tankard. "Could I get more of that Blackbriar mead?" He waited as Siona filled it, her expression dark. As she passed the now full tankard back to him, he put a hand on her arm.

"If you don't mind me saying, kinsman," he said quietly, "you did the right thing, reprimanding that girl. Erik is a good lad, and he's lucky to have you as a friend, who's willing to protect him."

Siona looked up at him from underneath her mess of black hair and smiled. "Thank you, Ennis," she said quietly. "I appreciate it."

He patted her on the arm and moved back to his seat to continue his evening. As the evening concluded, and Siona locked up the Frostfruit Inn, she sat in front of a glass window with a full bottle of wine. Anyone passing by would think she was just watching the road. Nobody could tell she was studying her face half-heartedly.

She wasn't beautiful. The thick and jutting jaw, the eyes already lined from squinting, the ears that stuck out too far, the cheeks that weren't smooth and glowing... The list went on. She had never been a beauty. Even on Stros M'kai, her friends had always been the pretty ones, and she knew it. But she didn't mind; attractiveness didn't matter then, not when there was so much to do. She had remained cheerful. Her cheer was what endeared her to people, made her seem more attractive than she really was. No one was jealous of friendly Siona's looks.

The only thing she liked about herself was her eyes: striking blue orbs that bounced between the shimmering blue of the ocean waves and the glittering ice of the mountains. She had many comments on the color of her eyes, when the compliments were being passed around. It was the only thing, really, other than her demeanor. Cheerful Siona, friendly Siona, the always smiling Siona.

Sometimes, she didn't feel like smiling, though. When her family was killed by the bandit raid, while she was out buying food. The first time she almost died, crossing the Alik'r Desert back in Hammerfell, weakened by dehydration. When she nearly fell under the executioner's axe because she crossed into Skyrim "illegally", though she knew that it was because she was a Redguard, always held in suspicion. So many moments, and yet she had to persevere, be the one to smile and say, "It'll all work out."

Cheerfulness attracted people to her spirit, but too many people judged a book by its cover, especially here in Skyrim. A Redguard, but not even an exotic beauty, not worth anyone's time. And with all her scars... I bet that vamp of a hunter doesn't have a single scar on her body, she thought venomously. I bet she's never had to fight anything more dangerous than a deer. She touched her shoulder, where the scar from a dragon bite still lay, a strange smile crossing her face. What a story! The beast had bitten through her armor, and had half her body in its mouth...

She suddenly hesitated at that thought. Ah. Dragonborn. She bit her lip. To tell Erik, or not to tell Erik. She remembered the day she'd first seen him, after she had killed Naghaliiv. Running up to her horse like an obsessed fan... It had been startling.

She worried about what Erik's response would be if she told him. She loved being his friend. It was nice to have friends again. Mjoll had been her friend, but ever since Siona had revealed herself to be the Dragonborn, Mjoll had kept her at a respectful distance. As though they never dropped buckets of water on Maven Blackbriar as she strolled under a dark balcony! Siona chuckled at that memory, but sobered up as she thought of Erik again. He reminded her of herself when she first entered Skyrim: naive, and far too trusting. He would never have to shoulder such a burden as that of the Dragonborn, as she did, but he would have to grow a thicker skin, certainly. She wished him the best.

One thing was certain, she was glad this Dragonborn business was over. Alduin was dead, and the world was saved. She took a large swallow of wine, feeling the bitter lump rise in her throat as she fetched a second bottle. Alduin was dead, yet she felt so unfulfilled. But this was her destiny, wasn't it? She snorted. Some destiny, alone with distant housecarls and large houses. So what, the money and status? So what, being the thane of all nine holds? Nothing was worth it, miles from home and her family killed in a bandit raid. It could have happened to anyone, they say. It could. But was it as earth-shattering for the others?

She had never felt so alone. And then she discovered Rorikstead, that year ago, and the animated redhead who had thrown her off. She knew she would return; it reminded her of home, of the tiny farming village in the shadow of the forests on Stros M'kai. Suddenly, there was a family environment, and there were people who were friendly to her, and not because she could blast them to piece with her thu'um. They liked her for her, not because she slaughtered dragons and saved the world. They liked her, even though she didn't offer them anything other than a smile and a bit of conversation. She was nothing but a new face. And she loved it.

She drained the wine and stood up a bit unsteadily. "Time for bed," she said, her voice a little bit high and tipsy.

As she fell into the mass of furs and goose feather pillows, she snuggled against the bed. "Say goodnight, O mighty hero, O Dragonbitch," she said loudly, her voice cracking. "Goodnight!" she roared into a wolf pelt.

She fell asleep quickly, and threw up the next morning.

…

When the door opened to the Frostfruit, revealing a beaming Erik, Siona clapped her hands together, grinning.

"Erik, you look fantastic!"

His smile turned shy, and he ducked his head. "Thanks, Siona," he mumbled. Mralki barged in behind him, surveying the inn.

"You did everything I asked?" he inquired suspiciously. Siona rolled her eyes.

"I finished two weeks ago. And that skeever bite I wrote you about got infected."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said automatically. "Why are these walls painted?"

"They're not painted, they're enchanted," Siona replied, leaning against the counter. "It seals out the draft, and keeps it warm in here. Little trick I learned from a friend up in Winterhold. It'll save you time with chopping wood during the winter."

"People 'round here hate magic."

"And that's why it looks like it's painted."

Mralki clapped her on the shoulder with a smile of approval. "Good thinking." She gave him a grateful nod before turning to Erik.

"Let's see then." She walked a full circle around him, examining the armor. "Iron is a good choice to start out with, I must say." She tapped the breastplate. "Good iron. Looks like Adrienne Avenicci's work. So you went to Warmaiden's."

"She's a smart woman," Mralki remarked as he wandered away to inspect the rest of the inn. "Bear of a husband, though."

"Aye, that he is," Siona chuckled. "But a lovable one."

"She told us about the Dragonborn," Erik said breathlessly, eyes bright. "Did you know the Dragonborn is actually a girl? She lives next to the blacksmith!"

Siona stared at him, dumbfounded. "You thought the Dragonborn was a man?" she demanded almost angrily. "Four years, and you thought it was a man! By the Nine..." she muttered. Erik blinked.

"It's common knowledge?" he asked weakly. Siona glanced at him, her irritation melting away.

"Well...if you didn't know it, I suppose it really isn't," she replied with hesitation. "Sorry. I just thought everyone knew..."

"Well, er, apparently the Dragonborn is an acquaintance of Adrienne. Said that the Dragonborn always uses her forge, and that's where the dragon armor was made." Erik's expression turned enthusiastic again. "Adrienne said she hadn't been home for weeks though. Probably off adventuring. Her housecarl, Lydia, keeps polishing all of her dragon scales, all four hundred of them!"

"Well that sounds like a lot of work," Siona said wryly. Erik looked at her curiously.

"You aren't interested in the Dragonborn?" he asked, his head tilting to one side.

Siona blinked. "Uh. Well, I mean...people always talk about her. I feel like I know her entire life's story," she said ironically. "It just such an old topic. She's already saved the world.

Really, what else is there to say? It's not like she's doing anything new."

Erik frowned, and nodded. "That's a pretty good point. He-She's always been my hero, but I guess it's time to start being a hero and stop worshipping them." His chest puffed out as he assumed a mock heroic pose. Siona laughed.

Mralki came back from inspecting the inn, a look of approval on his face. "You thatched the roof well, Siona."

"Thank you, sir."

He waved a hand in the air. "Please, you can start calling me by my name. After all, you did keep my inn for a month."

Siona smiled and bowed at the waist a fraction. "Alright, Mralki."

Erik grabbed her hand, and she looked up, cheeks flushing.

"Come on, spar with me!" he begged.

"Uh, I don't have a sword on me," she said slowly, stuttering slightly.

"It's alright, we'll use the old practice swords. Come on!" His green eyes were beseeching. "Please?"

Reluctantly, Siona nodded. She was a bit out of practice anyways. "Alright," she agreed shyly. Erik's grin grew wider and the two of them exited the inn happily.


	5. Chapter 4: The Reveal

Siona leaned on Erik, the wooden sword still in her grasp. "You're getting good," she announced, poking him in the ribs with the blunted tip of the false weapon. "I think I twisted my ankle in that leap. Usually people don't aim that low with a sword," she teased.

Erik blushed. "I said I was sorry."

"Oh, Erik, you ninny, don't be so quick to apologize. People won't be so quick with you." She tapped his armor with her flat wood. "But the way you've been progressing, I think you'll be able to take on the world, soon, or at least three bears."

Erik grinned. "Aye, hopefully." He steadied his beaten friend for a moment and struck a heroic pose. "You can call me Erik the Slayer."

Siona laughed. "Alright, Sir Slayer, tell me: why the new name?"

"Well, my father said that I should pick a name that reflects who I am," Erik said reluctantly. "And no one's going to hire Erik Greenthumb or Erik the Hoepusher." He wrapped his arm around Siona again, helping her as she limped towards the Frostfruit Inn.

"Well, excuse me if I refuse to call you anything but Erik," Siona chuckled as they hopped up the steps. "So you're selling your services. Why a mercenary, anyway?"

Erik shrugged as he opened the door. "I need the money, and I can go to a variety of places."

Siona sighed as Erik helped her into a chair. "True, but sell-swords sometimes can get themselves into trouble. Criminals will hire them to do things..."

"I'll try to have some discretion, Siona," Erik replied. "I'm not a complete idiot."

Siona smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "No, that you aren't, certainly."

Mralki hurried up to them. "What happened?" he asked hastily.

"Erik's a better swordsman than I expected," Siona joked weakly.

Mralki scowled at Erik, who held up his hands. "I whacked her a bit too hard in the ankle, and she thinks she might have twisted it trying to get away," he tried to explain.

"Don't be angry with him, Mralki, he was doing the right thing," Siona said kindly. "I'm just need to be off my foot for a while. Do you have any food? I haven't eaten since this morning, and that was ten hours ago."

"Of course. Erik," Mralki snapped, "go get some of the stew, since this is your fault anyways."

Erik rolled his eyes and walked away while Mralki fussed with Siona's foot, to her protest.

"At least let me wrap it."

"I can heal it myself. I do have some magical experience, after all. It'll just have to sit overnight. I promise you, I'll be good as new in the morning." She patted his arm as Erik returned with an earthen bowl, filled with steaming stew. Mralki left to return to the counter, as people were beginning to file in for a nightcap.

Erik sat beside Siona, staring at the fire. "You've been training me for about two months now. And summer's coming." He hesitated, and Siona paused, the spoon midway between the bowl and her mouth. "I think I'm ready, Siona." He sighed. "I just don't know how to begin. Do I go to Whiterun and petition there? Or should I stay here and wait for a passing adventurer?"

Siona put the spoon in her mouth. "I think, Erik, that you should do what you think is best," she said slowly around a mouthful of stew. "You're a year older than I am, and I'm no child; just because you've lived here with your father all your life doesn't mean you're not an adult. You've got to start making choices as an adult who's about to enter the big wide world." She paused and nodded to herself. "But I will make it easy on you." She balanced the bowl carefully on her lap before leaning over to stare Erik straight in the eye. "I will hire you for five hundred septims, no less."

Erik's mouth opened and closed for a moment before he started to speak. "I couldn't ask you to do that! You've already done so much for us, and..."

She placed a stubby finger to her lips, eyebrows raising as his words fell away. "I am insisting. And, if you feel the need, I'll drop you off in whatever big city, so you can explore your options. But you could use the coin, and the experience. It would help to have someone guide you on your first big journey."

He thought about this, and nodded. "What would I be doing?"

Siona hesitated. "You know, adventuring," she said loosely, picking up the bowl of stew and stuffing her face. "Killing things and stuff."

"Well that's not very specific," Erik replied with a grin, but his expression melted into confusion. "Siona, really: what do you actually do? You've been here for almost four months, and we know you're from Stros M'kai, but what do you do in Skyrim?"

Siona sucked in her bottom lip for a moment before she sighed. "I do what I want to do. And I tend to fight Forsworn, and I help people in villages like yours, but what I do mainly is...er...well, I go into burial crypts," she blurted out. Her words began to speed up. "I know you guys honor your dead and all, but there's some really good loot down there, and the draugr are easy to kill, and, uh, yeah..." She buried her face in her hands before moving a finger to peek out at Erik, one bright blue eye visible.

"Isn't that a little creepy? And frightening?" he asked.

She lowered her hands. "You don't think...I did something wrong?"

He shrugged. "Well, you're right; it's not like they're using it. I personally wouldn't call you a grave robber, but some people might. And most people in burial crypts have been dead for centuries. It's not like their families are going to come after you," he added, looking at her with some amusement. Siona had visibly relaxed by then, and was sitting by him with a grateful expression on her face.

"Thank you, Erik," she said shyly.

He shrugged. "Not a problem."

"I think I want to go to bed, now," she said.

"Alright, I'll help you to your room." He stood and scooped his arm underneath both of hers, lifting her gently out of the chair. She hopped on her good foot as they moved forward, and Erik opened the door to let her inside.

She leaned on the chest by the fur covered bed as Erik went to leave. "Thanks again, Erik, for everything," she said. "And I'll pay you tomorrow, and we can start preparing to leave."

The smile on Erik's face broadened widely. "Alright, Siona. Sleep well."

The door closed and Siona hobbled over to the bed, weaving the proper spell to heal her ankle. One for the bruising, one for the pain, and one to mend the torn ligaments. She slipped out of her clothes and into the simple shift she used for sleeping before snuggling into the furs of the bed.

. . .

_Eeeeeek._

Siona's eyes opened, facing the wall. Something was off.

_Eeeeek_.

She froze in her bed, narrowing her eyes. That was the sound of someone stepping on a floorboard, but everyone should be asleep. An animal, maybe? She glanced at the window, moonlight pouring inside her room. But how had an animal gotten in past all of her sealants on the inn? So, not an animal.

She turned her head to look at the light coming under the door. If Erik or Mralki was walking around the inn, they would have a candle, and there would be a weak, flickering golden glow under the doorway.

No light, there. Slowly, her hand slipped down to the side of the bed to where her dagger was, but her fingers grasped at empty space. Shit. She had stopped placing the dagger by her bedside after a few months here, and left it in her saddlebags. It felt so safe here; who would threaten Rorikstead? She withdrew her hand and half shut her eyes.

Nothing in the inn was worth stealing. So if this was a thief, they would leave soon. And Mralki, a light sleeper, kept the money on him. Best to just wait for a while. She was unarmed, and the thief wasn't stupid enough to come without at least one weapon. It would be better not to risk it.

There was a creak of wood, and her door began to slowly open. Not a thief, at least not with the guild. Too clumsy. Siona narrowed her eyes further, appearing to be fast asleep, but she watched the intruder through darkened, blurred vision.

Lemkil. He appeared to be drunk. And the knife in his hand was not promising. He was probably wreaking his vengeance for his hurt pride from four months ago. Siona had to hand it to him: man could hold a grudge. He advanced towards the bed clumsily, knife held aloft, and Siona took a quiet, deep breath through her nose.

Her ankle was still healing, so she would be a bit slowed down, but he shouldn't be too difficult to overcome, drunk as he was. He stopped by the bed, swaying somewhat, before raising the knife slowly.

She tackled him around the middle with a yell, falling out of bed as he dropped the knife. Landing on her ankle funny, she winced. He shook her off, and she fell to a position on the floor. As he lashed out with a fist, she ducked quickly, feeling it rush past her cheek. This would be an easy fight, she thought smugly.

Her easy victory was deterred as he raised a booted foot and stomped on her ankle. Siona screeched in pain as it broke, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood. It gave Lemkil, who was apparently not as drunk as Siona had first gauged, a chance to pick up his knife. She tried to fight him off as he bent over her, pinning her arms down with his knees, knife at the ready over her throat. He leered at her, victory in his eyes as she struggled, vision blurred with painful tears.

"Poor little Redguard bitch," he laughed. "No one to save you now, is there?" He grabbed her chin in a strong grip, looking straight into her blue eyes, watering in pain from her broken ankle. "You should be more careful who you threaten, Redguard." He began to press the knife down on her throat. "Any last words?"

Her eyes focused, and the fire in them nearly made him move back. "Only three, Nord dog," she said quietly before filling her lungs with air.

Erik and Mralki had been called out of bed by shouts and thumps coming from Siona's room. When Mralki had found the inn's lock broken, Erik rushed towards her room.

"Siona!" he shouted, but before he could reach the door, it blew open. The inn shook from the force of it.

"_FUS_ _RO_ _DAH_."

Lemkil was tossed through the air, only to hit a shelf full of food and to slump to the ground, moaning in pain. A knife was held loosely in his hand.

"The Voice," Erik whispered, turning to Siona's door.

Standing in the doorway, the Redguard leaned against the wood frame, breathing hard through her nose. She raised her eyes to Erik, and her expression of cool fury dropped into that of horror.

"Erik...I can explain..."

He stared at her, gaping for a moment, before he fell to his knees.

"Dragonborn."


	6. Chapter 5: New Beginnings

Siona leaned her head against her horse, affectionately dubbed Freya. The animal nibbled at her short hair, which had grown to the midpoint of her ears, as she sighed. She tested the weight on the crutch Mralki had loaned her, feeling the splint and cloth wrapped around her rapidly (and magically induced) healing ankle. Ennis and Reldith stared at her as they walked by - she tried to ignore them as they whispered excitedly to themselves.

"You know, this is exactly what I didn't want," she muttered angrily to Freya, who flicked her ears as though agreeing. "I liked being normal. And now I'm not anymore." She closed her eyes. "I'm just the great hero, who doesn't need friends."

The sound of footsteps made her lift her head. Rorik, the founder of Rorikstead and hence the name, approached, with Jouane Manette close behind.

"Dragonborn," he greeted, and Siona scowled.

"That's me," she grunted as she started to pack her saddlebags. "The great hero."

Rorik and Jouane exchanged quizzical glances before turning back to her. "We just wanted to express your gratitude for all you've done here in Rorikstead. We are embarrassed that we allowed you to stoop to such actions as to help with the farming and all -"

"I didn't lower myself," Siona barked in bad temper before sighing at the stunned looks on their faces. "Can I be frank? I didn't come to Rorikstead seeking glory. If I wanted that, I'd have stayed in Whiterun, and let everyone kiss my feet as I walked past." She strapped down a bedroll tightly. "I'm...sad, I guess, that all of you don't see me as Siona the Redguard anymore."

Rorik bowed his head for a moment, but it was Jouane who spoke. "You were escaping your fame."

"Yes," she said, turning to look at the two men squarely. "As Dragonborn, it's nothing but hero worshippers and nobles wanting to incur your favor, people making every move just so they can be spared the wrath of your Voice." She shook her head. "I miss being able to sit down at the tavern and have a mug of ale with a complete stranger, without being stared at and whispered about."

She resumed packing. "But I'm leaving today. Probably go back to Whiterun, stock up and leave again for another small village who won't know who I am. Maybe Shor's Stone, or something. Ivarstead."

Rorik spoke up. "We wanted to thank you for all you've done, slaying that dragon a year ago and assisting with the more mundane things over the past few months."

Siona turned to see him holding up a large coin purse, and her brow knitted together. "I can't take that, Rorik."

"Please, Siona. It's five hundred septims."

She sighed. "Rorik, where did you get that money from?"

"It's my personal money, I didn't take it from the people."

"Then give it to the people." A small, sad smile alighted on her face. "I'm the Dragonborn, sir. I have gold pouring out of my ears. I can tell you where that money would be good here in Rorikstead, and I would rather you use it here." She placed a hand on the purse and pushed it back to the man. "I'm asking you, please."

Rorik hesitated before nodding. "Is there anything else?"

"About Britte and Sissel..."

"Ah, yes. They're being sent to Honorhall Orphanage."

"Don't do that," Siona said abruptly, her face turning to stone. "They need to stay here in Rorikstead. Someone has to take over for them."

"Well, I suppose, but I don't know anyone who would want the girls," Rorik replied, bewildered.

Siona cast her eyes towards Jouane, lifting her eyebrows. "I know you've been teaching Sissel," she said quietly. Rorik gave his friend a startled glance. "It may be a good idea, for her sensitive self especially, if you took the girls in." Jouane was quiet, and Siona continued. "Lemkil's place is empty now that he's in prison. You can move in there. And you know you'll be able to support them."

Jouane hesitated. "I had thought about it..."

"This isn't the Dragonborn asking you, Jouane," Siona said softly. "I'm asking as your friend, the one who cooked for you and bought you a few pints. Please."

He paused before giving her a slow nod. "It would be my pleasure."

She shook hands with the both of them before they drifted away, discussing the two girls quietly. As she turned back to loading food into the saddlebags, she felt a presence behind her. She didn't bother to turn around.

"Hey, Erik."

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, not sure what to say. Here was Siona, one of his best friends, who taught him how to sword fight and paid for his armor. But here was also the Dragonborn, the hero he had admired for years. It made no sense that they were one and the same. Not to mention that he'd always thought the Dragonborn would be a Nord.

"I thought you would be a Nord," he choked out, but realizing it was the absolute worst thing to say when she spun around. Her open hand connected with his cheek in a stinging slap. It left behind a red mark in the shape of her hand.

"What made you think that would be a good thing to say?" she shouted angrily. Erik stepped back, blinking his watering eyes. "Shor's bones! No, 'Hey, Siona, it was really nice that you were here' or 'I'm sorry you're leaving', or 'Why didn't you tell me you were the damn Dragonborn'? Don't you think I've been told that enough?" she ranted. " 'You should be a Nord, Siona'. 'It doesn't make any sense for a Redguard to be the Dragonborn'. 'Your race sullies the name of the Dragonborn, Redguard'." She let out a wordless shout of anger before whirling around and furiously packing the horse, pulling on the straps hard.

Erik blinked, hesitating. "I'm...I'm sorry, Siona. I didn't think."

Her shoulders stayed uptight, and he could hear her breathing through her nose.

"It's just all of this is so strange for me," he said, trying to appeal to her. "I mean, you're Siona, the girl who just appeared one day and befriended the entire village. But you're also the Dragonborn, which you never told me about, and I'll be honest, that hurt a bit." He paused as her shoulders relaxed a tad. "I'm having issues connecting the two. After all, not every great hero babysits children and thatches a roof and plants a field."

Her shoulders had dropped to their regular height again and she turned to Erik. "You know Rorik and Jouane came by and tried to apologize for letting me help with the planting?" she asked in amusement. Erik chuckled. They smiled at each other for a moment before Siona slung an arm over his shoulders.

"Erik, you're my friend. And I'm ecstatic that you returned the favor," she said, tilting her head back to look at the morning sky. "I didn't want you to know I was Dragonborn, because of the way you ran out to see me when I killed Nahagliiv that year ago."

Erik's cheeks were as bright as his hair. "Ah...it was a bit childish of me," he admitted. Siona smiled, and he thought to himself how pleasant she looked when she beamed.

"That, and I didn't want you seeing me as anything but your friend," she added. "I don't have many friends, Erik. It makes you very important to me. And I need you to keep being my friend, not my fan." She removed her arm from his shoulders and returned to the saddlebags.

"So why are you leaving then?" he asked. She sighed, and pushed her hand through her thick black hair.

"I have unwanted attention here. I know Reldith and Ennis will never see me as the same again, and while Rorik and Jouane are more relaxed, I know the same goes for them." She shook her head. "I just want anonymity again. It was nice, and I was happy. Lemkil just had to destroy all of that," she said bitterly.

"Am I still coming with?"

Siona turned to him, startled. "You still want to come with?" she asked incredulously.

"Why not?"

"Well, I thought...with all the new developments, and...it just all happened so quickly..." She stopped herself and sighed. "I lied to you, Erik. Or, at least, I didn't tell you everything. I thought you would just forget and all, or not want to come because of all of this."

"That's silly," Erik replied. "And a rather stupid reason. I've decided that it's easier for me to see you as a friend than as the Dragonborn. And you promised you would help me get experience." He jabbed his finger into her face. "Don't tell me you forgot about that, because I know that's not true."

She laughed and nodded. "Alright, Erik. I guess it has nothing to do with the fact that you would be adventuring with the Dragonborn, right?"

"No, why would it have anything to do with that?" he said lamely, and a bit sheepishly. Siona laughed again.

"Alright, well, you better find a horse and start packing for a two week trip. We'll be heading to Markarth on the first leg of the journey. They've got a Dwemer ruin you'd probably be interested in seeing." She smiled at him as she clapped him on the shoulder. "I look forward to travelling with you. Now get going."

Erik rushed away towards the inn, the excitement gleaming on his face. Siona shook her head and finished packing, stroking Freya's mane.

"I guess everything's going to be alright, then," she murmured to the animal. The horse nickered as though in agreement, and Siona smiled.

. . .

The next morning, as he stood by the inn with his horse, Erik stared at Siona as she pulled Freya into a tight turn, back straight as she surveyed the road. The steel plate armor she wore was finely made, and she wore it comfortably, as though it was a second skin. It pulsed with a warm red energy, and the helmet sat in her lap.

"Where did you get that armor?" Erik asked in wonder. Siona raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I packed it, obviously. Did you really think that I wore leather all the time?" She chuckled. "Leather isn't very good against arrows, much less dragon's teeth."

Erik flushed and nodded, gripping the reins of his horse tightly. Mralki hurried out of his inn, dipping his head towards Siona.

"Dragonborn," he greeted, before turning to Erik and proffering the cloth wrapped item he held in his hand. "Here. I wanted you to have this. It's from when I was a vigilante against bandits."

Erik took the gift and pulled the cloth away, gasping at the fine but obviously worn glass bow. "I don't know what to say," he remarked, admiring the handiwork.

"Its name is Brightarc," Mralki said, "and it's been in the family for generations, so you better not break the damn thing, you understand me?" Erik nodded with a sheepish grin and Mralki gave him a quick nod in return. "Good. Now," he said as he turned towards Siona, "you make sure my son returns in one piece, because if he doesn't, I will hunt you down and you'll wish that you never came to Skyrim, Dragonborn or no." Mralki's harsh expression softened for a moment. "He's all I have left, and now he's in your hands. Be careful with him."

"I will, Mralki," Siona replied, bowing her head towards the innkeeper. Erik and his father clasped each other for a moment before the redhead released him, mounting his stout brown horse.

"Write often," Mralki called as the two began to trot away.

"I will!" Erik called. Mralki watched as the two headed north, turning to take a dirt path that would snake through the mountains. In a few moments, they were gone from view. The innkeeper sighed and headed back to the Frostfruit, a curiously heavy feeling of sadness in the pit of his stomach.


	7. Chapter 6: The Journey

It was amusing, at first, to see Erik bound off at the slightest hint of anything adventurous: a flash of fur behind a rock, a shadow in the bushes, a shape in the trees, and so on. But by the end of the first day, Siona was a bit irritated. Erik had managed to slow them down by a whole day by doing this, and she wasn't interested in running out of food.

They set up camp the first night, and Erik had gone bounding after something in the dark, leaving Siona to tend to the fire and the leg of venison roasting over it. She muttered to herself angrily the entire time he was gone and when he finally returned with nothing more than a few scratches and scrapes, she exploded into a rant on the subject of responsibility and purpose.

Now she felt bad, sitting in her separate tent after a good long brood session. He had looked stunned by her shouting, and she couldn't shake the image out of her mind. Siona groaned softly in her guilt.

He was just so...naive. She knew experience would fix that. Akatosh knows how inexperienced and weak she was when she came to Skyrim. She would have to let it go... But it would probably be a good idea to talk to Erik about what was right and wrong when it came to adventuring. Shor's bones, he was older than her, albeit only by a year or so. He would have to stop acting like a child.

She awoke the next morning to find a bunch of red mountain flowers tied with a leather strip beside her head, and cooked salmon on a plate by the fire. Erik was nowhere to be seen. She ate the fish slowly, admiring the crude flower bouquet.

He returned with a string of birds on a line and seemed startled to find her awake. This became obvious when "You're awake," fell from his lips in a surprised fashion. Siona grinned.

"Yes, apparently I am," she replied, taking a last bite of the fish and wiping the plate with a stray rag before placing it back into a saddlebag. "You went hunting?"

"I, er, got a few pheasants," he said, holding up the string. "You were asleep, and I felt bad for yesterday, so... Here." He passed her the string of birds. "For being a child yesterday."

Siona grinned. "You certainly know the way to a woman's heart," she joked. "A string full of birds will definitely sway her over."

He laughed, and they began to break down the tents, placing the poles and cloth on the horses. Siona chattered cheerfully as she strapped on her armor, sticking the helmet under her arm when she was finally sitting on her horse. Erik, however, was bending over a book, scrawling with a stick of charcoal. She glanced at him, cutting off her stream of words.

"Hey, Erik, what you got there?"

He looked up, his cheeks going as bright as his hair. "Oh, uh...just a journal. Figured I should document my adventures." He wrote a bit more before closing it carefully and placing it in a saddlebag beside him.

Siona paused before she began speaking again. "Well, if I'm right, we should get to Old Hroldan Inn by tonight, and should reach the main road by noon tomorrow, if we leave the inn at dawn."

"Good, an actual bed," Erik said with a hint of relief. Siona turned on her saddle to give him a stare, eyebrows raised.

"You're too soft, Erik. You need to get used to sleeping on the ground, if you're going to be an adventurer. Inns are hard to find."

Erik's head lowered for a moment before he nodded. Siona sighed, her guilt bubbling up again. By the Nine, though, he would have to learn! She wasn't here to babysit.

"I'm...sorry, Erik, if I'm too harsh, or if I say things like some overreacting parent," she said softly. "I'm just trying to help you. I know this is all so new to you, and I just want to help you."

His head lifted. "No, Siona, it's fine. Really. I appreciate you doing this for me." He smiled. "No one else would."

The two smiled at each other before continuing their ride.

It was night by the time they arrived at the Old Hroldan, with an architectural style much like that of any inn in Skyrim. They tied their horses and stepped inside, looking around.

"Hello?" Siona swiveled her head. "Eydis?"

A middle aged blonde woman poked her head out of an adjoining room. "Lady Dragonborn!" Eydis blurted. "A pleasure, a pleasure." She hurried towards the two twenty somethings, a broad smile on her face.

"Are you here for the night, milady?"

"Yes, for me and my friend here. This is Erik, Eydis," Siona introduced, gesturing to the young man. "We're going to Markarth."

"Markarth! I've only been there a couple of times myself, but it's a marvelous city." Eydis looked from one traveller to the other. "So are you two visiting as tourists? Looking at the sights? Or is it the Temple of Dibella you seek?" She winked at Erik, whose mortified expression, painted bright red, sent Siona into quickly stifled giggles.

"No, I'm going to show him Nchuand-Zel. I haven't been there yet myself, but I figured he would enjoy it," she explained after her mirth had passed. Eydis raised her eyebrows.

"A Dwemer ruin! Those can be quite dangerous, milady."

"Mama?" A young boy stood by the counter, yawning. He spied Siona, and a grin broke out across his face.

"Lady Siona, it's good to see you again. We've been sleeping much better since you took care of that ghost."

"It was my pleasure, Skuli. I was happy to help." Siona turned back to Eydis, handing her several gold coins. "I'd like two rooms for Erik and me. Give him Tiber Septim's room. He'll love that."

"Of course, milady!" Eydis took Erik by the arm and began her monologue on the history of the inn, all the while steering him towards his room. Siona yawned and, while biding Skuli for a cup of spiced wine, trotted towards her room. She sat on the bed, kicking off her shoes and unbuckling her armor. The boy returned with a cask of warm spiced wine and a goblet, smiling at her as she dropped several heavy septims into his hand.

"Goodnight, Skuli," she called as the door shut behind him. The sound of wine pouring into the goblet was soothing, and she took a quick swig, rolling her shoulders against the soreness of the day's ride. The warmth travelled down to her belly, sitting there like an ember.

She yawned again and finished the goblet, the heady taste full in her mouth. Now in her cotton shirt and wool leggings, she snuggled into bed, pulling the furs close to her to block out the Skyrim cold.

"Good night, Erik," she muttered before drifting off into sleep.

. . .

Erik wolfed down the breakfast of pine thrush egg and pheasant breast, already in full gear. The sun hadn't even shown up over the horizon yet, but he was enthusiastic and ready to go. Siona, on the other hand, brooded in the corner, a tankard of black coffee in her hand as she stared at Erik in disbelief.

"How are you so awake?" she asked blearily, taking another sip of the dark coffee and wincing as a sour tang exploded on her tongue. Erik shrugged.

"Always have been," he cheerily replied, taking another large mouthful of his breakfast. Siona took a huge mouthful of the bad coffee and nearly spit it back out in disgust. Choking it down, she placed the tankard back on the table, her steel plate armor rattling slightly.

"We should get going soon," she remarked, glancing outside. "I'd like to get to the main road by midday."

Erik scraped at the tin plate, scarfing down the remains. Siona stood and placed a coin purse on the table. Erik raised an eyebrow at the size of it.

"Eydis deserves it," Siona said quietly. "She's been through a lot."

They were ten minutes into their journey before Erik pressed the matter further.

"What sort of things has Eydis been through?" he asked as they rode side by side. The sun was just beginning to warm over the horizon.

Siona looked sad for a moment. "Well, for one, she doesn't get many customers at her inn," she said slowly. "It makes upkeep difficult. Secondly, her husband went missing about three years ago, after he went on a search for some merchant attacks."

"Did he just leave her?" Erik asked, bewildered. Siona shook her head.

"Worse." She fished around in a small pocket of her saddlebags, pulling out a torn note and handing it to the redhead. He opened it carefully.

_They fell upon us at dusk. Dozens of them. The caravan guards were dead in moments. They took everyone else back to the pens. Blinded those who tried to resist._

_One by one, they've taken the others away- feeding us to those monstrosities, or worse. I don't have much time left. Eydis, my love, if you ever get this - forgive me._

_Firir_

Erik glanced at Siona. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the reins of Freya, staring straight ahead. "I found Firir in a cave called Chillwind Depths. He'd been tortured, marks all over his bodies. Eyes gouged out."

"Who did it?" Erik asked, bewildered.

"Damn Falmer," Siona growled. "Once they were elves, but they've become twisted, blind abominations." She scowled at the horizon. "I killed every last of the bastards in cold blood. Couldn't believe it." Erik proffered the paper back to Siona, who carefully folded it and placed it back in her saddlebag. "I've never been able to tell Eydis..." she added, a cold, sad light in her ice blue eyes.

They rode on in silence.

. . .

Erik rubbed the stubble of the past week and a half, gazing at the great gates of Markarth. Siona, returning from stabling the horses, clapped him on the shoulder, grinning.

"Welcome to Markarth, Erik the Slayer!" she announced, one hand sweeping in front of her as though offering him the sight. He took in the ornately carved stone and golden accents, letting out a low whistle.

"It's no Rorikstead," he chuckled weakly after a moment. Siona smiled.

"Aye, that it's not." She squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "You'll find the whole world isn't quite like Rorikstead. There's so much to see out here, Erik. You're going to love it."

She marched up to the doors, tilting her head. "We'd like to get in," she announced, giving the guards a bright, cheerful smile.

The two guards standing by gave her a quick, suspicious nod before parting the doors for her. She walked inside, whistling a tune unfamiliar to Erik, who was following close behind. The guards scowled at him before the door slammed shut behind them.

"What's up with them?" Erik whispered to Siona, simultaneously gawking at the great stone building at the center of the city as they took a right to a large staircase. Siona glanced back as she climbed the stairs, reaching the first level.

"Oh, you know. City was corrupt, so I killed the Forsworn King and escaped from Cidhna Mine, and got rid of the guards' comfy positions. So they hate me."

"Well, if that's all," Erik replied sarcastically. Siona grinned at him, halfway up the second staircase. "Where are we going?"

"Oh. To my house." She whistled a tune as they stopped in front of a doorway, and pulled out a key, opening the door.

"Nice house," Erik said, awed at the warm stone rooms. A scarily rugged man, with a blind eye and fearsome warpaint, stood before them, arms crossed.

"My Thane," the man greeted gruffly. Siona smiled at him.

"Nice to see you, too, Argis. Anything happen recently?"

"Calcelmo and Faleen were married a month or two ago. They send you their gratitude," the fearsome man replied. Argis swiveled his head to look at Erik. "This your husband, Thane?"

Siona laughed, followed by Erik, who chuckled nervously. "No, no, this is Erik the Slayer from Rorikstead. I hired him there."

Argis scowled at him. "He looks a little green to me, Thane."

"Well, he won't always be, Argis," Siona admonished merrily. "He'll be sleeping in your bed for the duration of our stay. I'll pay for the best room at the Silver-Blood Inn until we leave."

"That's really not necessary," Erik said quickly, but Siona held up her hand.

"I insist." She turned back to Argis. "However, I expect you to be here from eight to eight, is that clear?"

"Of course, Thane," he replied.

"Excellent. Thank you." She took a deep whiff. "Is there enough of your stew for all of us? I've had such a craving for it since I was here last."

"As usual, Thane."

. . .

The flames crackled loudly in the fireplace, reflecting off of Erik's newly washed hair. His beard had been neatly shaven, and he looked less like a vagabond and more like the Erik that Siona remembered from Rorikstead. The off-white shirt and brown breeches he wore seemed to only make his flaming hair even more startling. Siona found herself staring a few times over her novel a few times as he bent over his journal, scrawling haphazardly with a charcoal stick. He had the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and she could see charcoal dust staining his fingertips...

She blushed and returned to her novel. After a moment, she sighed, and set down Beggar Prince, unable to concentrate. Erik looked up from his writing, the only sound being that of the fire on the logs.

"Tomorrow we go to Nchuand-Zel," she stated simply, folding her legs underneath her brown, sensible dress. "It would be best if you were well equipped, and well groomed, since the entrance is within Understone Keep. There is a chance you will catch a glimpse of the Jarl, after all. However, I will personally outfit you for the ruin. Wouldn't want you getting too hurt, after all." She tapped her fingers together, watching the fire as a log popped and fell apart in a flurry of sparks. "We'll take a look at my inventory tomorrow. I'm sure we'll have something that fits your needs."

Erik looked delighted, and he nodded enthusiastically. She stood and yawned theatrically.

"I'm going to bed now," she announced, looking over his head at the fireplace mantle. "You can go to sleep whenever, but, uh. Okay, going to bed."

In her bed, she stared at the stone ceiling for a long while, fighting with herself. It was as the seductive huntress had said back at the Frostfruit: Siona really did have feelings for her friend. And she did not like this revelation. She found herself picturing the way the firelight brightened his hair and angrily chased the image away.

No, no, no. This was the last thing she wanted, by the Nine. She closed her eyes, pleading with Mara to let the attraction pass. Attractions were dangerous. Attractions made you blunder, made you susceptible. She groaned to herself and pressed her fingers to her eyelids.

As a child, she'd always believe she'd find another Redguard farmer, settle down, and harvest fruit on Stros M'kai. Be perfectly normal, have the normal lifestyle. That changed when she came to Skyrim - she found herself more attracted to the warriors, then, the burly swordsmen and mace-wielders who would swagger into the taverns. Not many were interested in her, but there had been that fling with Farkas...That hadn't lasted too long, either; man had a voice like none other, but not quite as much brain as he had brawn. She was still hesitant to show her face passing Jorrvaskr in Whiterun. Too embarrassing. And he had been far more clingy than she had expected for such a hardened warrior.

But Erik! He was nothing but a pup in comparison to the usual. So very naive... Was it that? His innocence? Couldn't be, she scoffed. He'll get better, anyways, a small part of herself reminded her. Isn't that why he was with her in the first place? She flipped over, burying a cheek in the goose-down pillow as her mind whirled. She would have to get her mind off of him. Focus on the goal.

Enter Nchuand-Zel.


	8. Chapter 7: The Poisoned One

Understone Keep was huge.

Erik stood in the front room of the palace, turning in a slow circle. The glass armor Siona had given him fit perfectly, and the green flashed in the torchlight as he turned.

"This is amazing," he said, looking at his friend, resplendent in her Dragonplate armor. She held the helmet under her arm, her other hand gripping the frightening sword that Erik had soon learned was Daedric.

She smiled crookedly at him above the dragon bones that made up her breastplate. His expectant expression as he looked at her made her heart skip a beat and she cleared her throat, cursing Mara in her head. Damn Aedra. Things like this was why she was the Daedra champion. Things like her attraction to Eric, with the bright flame-colored hair and eyes like forests...

She flushed and turned her head, staring straight ahead. "The jarl will want to speak to me," she said slowly. "He would be offended, otherwise, if I were to stay in his city and not say hello."

Erik's face lit up further. "I get to meet a jarl?" he asked excitedly. Siona made a motion for him to simmer down, and he straightened, the enthusiasm on his face dissipating into a blank, reserved expression. "I much look forward to it," he announced stoically before wiggling his eyebrows comically at Siona. She rolled her eyes and, switching her helmet to the other arm, took Erik's arm, walking towards the throne.

Two hounds whined beside the pedestal, panting in the steamy heat from the underground generators, of Dwemer make. A middle aged man, with sensibly cropped hair and a neatly trimmed beard, grey streaking throughout, sat comfortably on the throne, listening to the elderly steward speak. He was dressed in golden finery, fur wrapped across his shoulders and a circlet on his brow. He looked up as Siona and Erik approached.

"Ah, is this the Lady Dragonborn I see?" the jarl boomed, his voice echoing in the stone chamber. Siona lifted her chin, and, approaching the throne, bowed at the waist.

"Good morning, Jarl Igmund," she greeted.

"What brings you to the Stone City, Lady Dragonborn?" Jarl Igmund inquired, tilting his head back to look down his nose at Erik. "And who is this young man? Your husband?"

Siona struggled to hide her blush. "Merely a friend, your Highness. Erik the Slayer, of Rorikstead."

"Is that the Whiterun Hold?" Jarl Igmund inquired. "An agreeable enough place, though all jarls wait impatiently for Balgruuf's decision on his stance in the war." Igmund laughed suddenly. "Maybe you could Shout a spine into him, Dragonborn."

Siona smiled wanly. "I think he doesn't want to hurt his hold any more than it already is. We are still dealing with dragons left behind by Alduin's short terror. Introducing the war to Whiterun would only scar it further."

"Hmph," Igmund snorted. He casually turned his gaze to Erik, lifting an eyebrow. "And what of you, Erik, my boy? What's your stance on the war?"

Siona glanced at him cautiously; Erik didn't see this, staring at the ceiling as he rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "I was raised on the teachings of the Nine Divines, not the Eight," he said finally.

Igmund frowned. "So, you are one of Ulfric's so called sons of Skyrim." He turned back to Siona. "Why haven't you entered this war? You have not chosen a side." He tapped his cheek. "I believe you would be welcome to the Empire."

"Skyrim is not my battlefield," Siona said staunchly, "as I keep telling you, Jarl Igmund."

"But it is now your home, is it not?" he pressed. "And as Dragonborn, your presence would sway the tide of the war-"

"As Dragonborn, my duty is to protect Tamriel against dragon attack, and to ensure the world won't end," Siona said quietly. Her tone was deadly. "I have enough of a responsibility on my shoulders. I do not need to add a civil war to that weight."

All was quiet in the throne room, the only sound being the panting of the dogs and the Dwemer machines. Igmund cleared his throat.

"So what brings you to my fair city, Lady Dragonborn?" he asked.

"Nchuand-Zel," she stated firmly. "I had wished for Erik to see a Dwemer ruin, and I had not seen the place myself."

Jarl Igmund stroked his beard. "I believe Calcemo may be standing in your way. Nchuand-Zel is his life's research, after all." Igmund smiled. "He sends his blessings to the Lady Dragonborn for her hand in his marriage to Faleen."

"My only regret was that I could not be there," Siona replied. "And I will talk to Calcelmo. I'm sure there is something he could use in exchange for our access."

"Very well, Lady Dragonborn. In any case, do be careful." He winked at her, smiling. "And once you do return, perhaps you will take my offer for a small evening together? This is the third time I've asked." He tapped his lower lip with a long finger. "I would love to see those beautiful eyes of yours and that lovely smile across from me over a private dinner."

"And I am flattered, my Jarl, really," Siona said cheerfully. "But I'm afraid I can't afford to be distracted."

"One day you'll say yes, Lady Dragonborn," he said quietly, "and I much look forward to that day."

He stood. "I will however request that you and your friend attend the banquet being held next Turdas." He gestured to a cloth covered statue, down the stairs. "Calcelmo is presenting me with a gift from his research."

Siona bowed again, the dragon bones of her armor clicking against each other. "Of course, my Jarl. We would be happy to." She straightened and smiled levelly. "It has been a pleasure, Jarl Igmund. Till we meet again."

"Of course, Lady Dragonborn." He gave her a quick smile before resuming his conversation with Raerek.

As Erik and Siona descended the stairs to the throne, he stared at Siona with a curious look. She glanced at him.

"What?"

"What was that?" he hissed.

"What was what?" she replied nervously.

"The jarl, asking you to dinner!" Erik whisper-shouted. "That doesn't exactly happen to everybody."

"Well, I'm not exactly 'everybody'," Siona snapped back. "In case you forgot, I'm the Aedra-damned Dragonborn." She huffed before continuing more calmly. "The Jarl has been a bachelor all of his life. Everything he does is for his hold. And what better queen of Markarth than the Dragonborn, eh?" She waved a dismissive hand. "He's not my type, anyways."

Erik blinked as they turned into a room with a large chasm and several wizards scurrying around. "You have a type?"

Siona raised an eyebrow as a man with a big white beard approached. "Erik. Everyone has a type." She turned her head to the white haired man. "Calcelmo."

"Lady Dragonborn," he said gruffly. "What brings you to the Keep today? Someone else's affairs to meddle in?"

"Actually, I'm here to see Nchuand-Zel," she replied airily, and waited for the fireworks. She didn't wait long: Calcelmo's face went a deep purple.

"What, do you think that just because you're the Dragonborn, you can gain access to my life's work?" he barked loudly. "Do you know how much you could damage the artifacts within? You utter _fool_, how can you be so presumptuous? Why, I ought to - "

Siona repressed a smile. Erik looked bewildered at the wizard's violent outburst. The man's face went from purple to red to white in an astonishingly quick transition before the anger dropped from his face.

"Ah... I am sorry, Lady Dragonborn." He gave her a thin smile. "Faleen is trying to help me control my temper."

"It's fine, sir." Siona spread her hands in front of her. "I simply wanted to see the ruin with my friend Erik here."

"Yes, yes, I..." Calcelmo suddenly paused. "Ah. You can actually assist me with something. I'll let you into Nchuand-Zel if you do this for me."

"Anything," Siona replied automatically. Erik shuffled his feet uneasily behind her. She brushed it off, chalking it up to nerves.

"There's a giant spider at the entrance of Nchuand-Zel; right before you can enter. She's been killing every worker I've sent up there." Calcelmo sighed and shook his head. "Blasted insect. The workers have taken to calling her Nimhe." Calcelmo cleared his throat. "The Poisoned One."

"Giant...spider?" Erik squeaked. Siona didn't hear him.

"My partner and I would be happy to help you out."

"Excellent!" Calcelmo declared. "So, get to it."

"Of course, sir." Siona placed the helmet over her head and looked at Erik. His sudden fear of the giant spider dissipated as the Dragonborn stood in front of him, her eyes like blue lightning.

"Ready to go?" Her voice was surprisingly clear through the strip of cloth over her mouth and nose. Erik nodded wordlessly. Was this really cheerful Siona, this great hero with eyes like raging fire?

Siona eyed Erik warily. Something had changed in his demeanor, and it was a bit unsettling. She tested the security of her helmet and began to head across the bridge. Erik followed closely.

They opened the door to the excavation site slowly. Erik's excitement slowly faded to a blank expression as he surveyed the rubble.

"It's not really anything," he said in disappointment. The Dragonborn laughed and turned to him.

"We're not even in the ruin, Erik, dear," she teased.

_Did I really just call him 'dear'?_ she thought stiffly, fighting down the heat rising to her cheeks.

_The Dragonborn just called me dear_, he thought excitedly.

There was a skittering noise and the two of them stopped in their tracks, Siona crouching immediately. She unsheathed her Daedric sword with a hiss of black metal on metal.

"Nimhe must be the queen of a brood," she murmured. She looked back at Erik. "You've got Brightarc and the sword I gave you?"

Erik tapped the bow strapped on his back and the hilt of the glass sword. She gave him a thumbs up and made a motion to unsheathe the sword. He complied, and held it in his hand as if it didn't weigh much at all.

The thought of spiders sent goosebumps down his arms. He was relieved that the glass armor hid the reaction, but couldn't shake his fear.

He had been frightened of spiders since he was ten, and had stumbled into a frostbite spider nest outside of the town. Fortunately, a passing caravan had heard his screams and had pulled him out, tending to his wounds and letting him play with the Khajit cubs while they rode him back to Rorikstead. But that five minutes, fighting as their hairy legs brushed against his face, their beady eyes watching him and their pincers dripping venom...he grew a paralyzing fear of the little bastards.

And now he had to face a giant one.

He tried to keep his fear away from the Dragonborn - Siona, Siona! Had to remember that - because how embarrassing would that be? Frightened by a spider... The Dragonborn - Siona, that is, had fought dragons, and Alduin, the World Eater! He couldn't shame himself by being frightened by a spider...

They snuck down the corridor, Siona holding her sword confidently in front of her. Erik wished he could look so comfortable. Then again, she was the Dragonborn! She had probably been venturing into ruins like these for years. Erik stared at her wistfully. If only he could become like her eventually... The battle hardened warrior, who wasn't frightened of mere arachnids.

A spider came scuttling out of the shadows and Erik nearly fell on his face. Siona turned to him and mimed shooting an arrow. He fumbled with his bow without sheathing his sword, and dropped the blade in the process.

Siona groaned as the spider detected their presence. Taking a deep breath, she Shouted as it scuttled toward them.

"_YOL TOOR SHUL_."

The flames roasted the arachnid, causing a smell of singed hair and cooked insect to permeate the corridor of the excavation site. It let out a high pitched squeal as it curled up its legs and died, still aflame. Erik stared at the spider carcass as it rocked on its back, the flames finally dying out.

Siona turned back to Erik. "How about you sheathe your sword, and use your bow from here on out?" she suggested quietly, with a sweet tone. He nodded once, mentally kicking himself as the sword was sheathed, and the bow was ready to use.

He let her kill the following spiders with quick, deft cuts that quickly incapacitated the bugs. The redhead froze up every time he saw those hairy legs and black eyes - so many eyes!

Soon, they were in front of the entrance of Nchuand-Zel. Erik waited warily for the giant spider, but breathed a sigh of relief after she didn't appear.

"Well. I guess we can enter," he said enthusiastically, but a strong grip latched on his arm and spun around. The bright blue eyes of the Dragonborn burned into him.

"Erik. You have not killed a single spider the entire time." She crossed her arms angrily. "I've taken every blow and you haven't lifted a damn finger to help."

Erik's fear tilted into anger. "What, are a few insects too much for you to handle?" he snapped hotly. "Too much for the great hero?"

"Pull your weight, Erik!"

"I am not fighting spiders!"

A shadow fell over them and the two arguing adventurers looked up. Siona's jaw dropped.

"Ah. _Shit_," Erik muttered with a squint.

Nimhe lunged at the two, who scattered quickly. Erik found himself staring dumbfounded at the monstrosities, its pincers salivating as it looked at the two of them with its eight eyes, raising its legs and making a strange, strange noise...

"Erik! Do something!" the Dragonborn shouted, hacking at one leg with her sword. It hit awkwardly, bouncing off, and Nimhe hissed menacingly.

Erik fumbled with his bow, shaken by the skittering sound of the spider. He aimed haphazardly and missed, the arrow arcing over the arachnid's head.

"Calm down!" the Dragonborn shouted, diving to the side as the spider snapped at her. She rolled and popped back up. "Take your time!"

Erik took a breath, and brought up the bow quickly, snapping an arrow towards the beast's eye. As the tip pierced the black orb, the arachnid screeched and shuffled around, honing in on Erik. His fear bubbled back up but he fought it down as he tossed the bow away for a moment. His sword was unsheathed and he unleashed a battle cry worthy of any Nord.

His blade severed one leg, sending the spider off kilter. She stumbled before spitting at him. It burned on his face.

"Watch out, that's poison!" a voice called. Erik glanced at the source: the Dragonborn sitting cross legged by the door to Nchuand-Zel.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, ducking as pincers snapped above his head.

"Sitting," she said simply.

Erik dove to the side as Nimhe reared up, standing and piercing the monster's underbelly. Green fluid splattered over him, and he gagged. The spider screeched again. He took another swipe at a leg. It fell away, and the monster fell over.

Erik jumped onto the body of the beast, stabbing it repeatedly with a continuous, roaring shout. Nimhe convulsed with each jab, before finally falling still, saliva pooling beneath her pincers.

Erik climbed off the arachnid, covered in spider gore. He wiped it off his face with a gauntlet before picking up his bow and marching up to Siona, who had taken off her helmet. She hadn't even broken a sweat.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded angrily.

She shrugged. "Nothing, actually."

"Why would you leave me to fight that...that...that thing?"

Siona sighed. "Because you're scared of spiders."

He stopped, taken aback, before launching back into his anger. "What does that even have to do with anything?"

"Erik," Siona said wearily, "you were avoiding spiders. _Spiders_. Although these were giant, spiders are _everywhere_. But secondly," she added, holding one finger up as Erik opened his mouth to speak, "you were purposefully holding yourself back because of a fear. If you always avoided something because you were afraid of it, you would make very poor adventurer. Your life would be so safe for you, and you would miss out on so much that you would regret later." She crossed her arms. "Now, let me tell you something. You just killed a giant spider. _Giant_. _Spider_. By yourself. _Without _the Dragonborn getting involved." She smirked. "You can write home about that."

Erik stated at her for a moment before stalking towards the doorway of Nchuand-Zel. "You're still an ass."

"Better than being a Nord," she shot back as he wrenched the doors open and held them for her.

"Oh, you're so funny," he muttered as the great doors swung shut behind them.


	9. Chapter 8: Falmer and Fire

The most unsettling thing about entering Nchuand-Zel was the sound. Erik was used to the noise of the outdoors: birds, wind rustling branches and whistling through cracks, footsteps, and the shaking of leaves... But here, he could hear the steady drip, drip, drip of water, the unnatural wind, and the clashing of machinery. There was no sign of life. The air was strangely humid, and smelled of earth. Suddenly, the enormity of being underground struck him. He was trapped, trapped...

"Erik, are you alright?"

He looked at Siona, his claustrophobia fading. Today was not his day, apparently.

"I'm fine."

"Okay," Siona said uncertainly, looking down at a note that had mysteriously appeared to Erik. "So I picked up this note off of the dead guard at the front, Alethius according to the signature..."

Erik looked at her blankly, still covered in green globs of spider gore. "There was a dead guard at the front?"

"Yes. But, you were a little distracted, so it's understandable that you didn't see him." She made a face as she looked at him. "By the Nine, you stink to high Sovngarde. I'm sure even Ysgramor can smell you."

She looked back down at the note in her hands. "Apparently, there were four researchers on this journey: Stromm, Erj, Krag, and Straubs. But all are offensively incompetent, and apparently, whatever is in these ruins required that they have a guard." She waved the note, fanning herself. "Judging by the minimal decomposition on Alethius's corpse, I should say they entered not long ago, meaning that, if they're lucky, they could still be alive."

Siona looked at Erik under her eyebrows. "How about we find ourselves some researchers, eh?"

He nodded once and Siona set out on a quick trot, crumpling up the note and tossing it to the side. They passed several ruined columns down the stone hallway, Erik craning his neck to look at everything. As they turned the corner, Siona came to a quick halt, holding out her arm to stop Erik. He rammed into her elbow, his breath expelling in a quick whuff of air.

"You alright?" she whispered. He nodded, blinking in surprise.

"Why are we stopped?" he whispered. Siona pointed out into a misty view and he squinted, eyes widening as something moved.

"Falmer." It lifted its head and sniffed the air, head swiveling towards the two of them. Siona muttered under her breath and pushed Erik back. "It smells you."

"I don't stink that badly," Erik protested as the thing let out a screech and leapt at the two of them.

Siona brought her sword around, decapitating the creature in a single stroke. Erik stared at the still warm corpse, and back at the Dragonborn.

"Ugly little thing," he said simply.

"Aye, that they are," Siona murmured, picking its head off of the ground. With elongated nostrils and milky white eyes, the creature looked less human and more monster. "It's almost amazing to think that they were once elves," Siona mused, echoing Erik's thoughts. "They're blind, you know. Leads to their heightened sense of hearing...and smell." She grinned as Erik scowled. "It would be wise to clean off your armor. And lucky for you, I hear water." She rifled through the corpse of the Falmer, picking up two small red bottles and tucking them into some unseen nook of her armor.

They headed off again, crouching as they slowly moved. Siona stayed at the front, attentive for more Falmer. It was dark on the balcony. And blue, strangely enough. Erik looked around him, and then over the edge.

"That's really far down," he said nervously. Siona whirled around, pressing a finger to the cloth covering her mouth. He held his hands up defensively and soon followed behind.

The next Falmer was easier to see; it popped right out in front of them. Erik brought his bow up and shot the creature once between the eyes in a panic. It fell backwards before them.

The Dragonborn turned to look at Erik, eyebrows raising above her impressed blue eyes. "Nice shot," she murmured. Erik didn't bother to tell her it was luck, as he was too aglow with pride.

Siona moved over to the edge, crouching as she peered down at the deep water. "That is a long way down," she agreed, looking slyly at Erik. His attention was focused on the sheer height. "You know, you should probably clean off your armor."

"Yeah, that might be a good idea," he replied distractedly.

He felt two hands plant themselves on his back, and a voice crowed, "Don't land on your face!" before they shoved him over the edge.

He screamed as he went tumbling head over heels, the water rising up to meet him. The air whistled through the glass armor and his helmet, still holding on by the pressing of his ears. Thinking quickly, he drew his knees to his chest and splashed into the water with high force, sending a ripple through the lake-like pool. The water filled in the chinks of his gauntlets and boots, cool but not freezing. He dragged himself up to the surface, gasping for air.

There was a sharp whistle, and he looked up to see Siona leap off the bridge in an elegant dive, sliding into the water with barely a splash. She bobbed back up and, moving the cloth in her helmet aside, gave him a thrilled, joyful smile. He gawked at her.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

"Consider it your induction into adventuring," she replied smoothly, her smile altering to become friendly. She began to swim towards the shore, Erik staring after her for a moment before following.

"I thought my induction was killing that damned spider," he muttered as Siona took off her helmet and shook her head from side to side. Water droplets were flung everywhere.

"Nah, that was just a necessity," she said cheerfully. "You had to be given a baptism by fear." She turned to punch him in the shoulder, the dragon bones clacking against the malachite as she gave him a wink. "Admit it, it was fun."

He opened his mouth to disagree but found that he couldn't. With a few grumbles, he began to unstrap his armor until it was lying in a neat pile and he was standing in his thin cotton shirt and breeches. He stared mournfully out at the water, where all of his arrows were bobbing merrily. "Ah," he muttered before wading back in and collecting them. He shoved them unceremoniously into his quiver and gazed at his waterlogged and gore crusted armor questioningly.

Siona caught herself halfway out of her armor, distracted by the sight of his shoulders. He was more muscled than she had originally thought... She realized he was looking at her, and had asked a question; she colored to her ears.

"What did you say?"

"So, do I just dunk it in the water?" he asked in confusion, holding up his armor. Siona gave him a tired smile.

"No, Erik," she said gently, "you've already tried that, and you might lose your grip on it if you did that; then you would have to worry about losing it in the water." She removed a rag from yet another nook in her armor and dunked it in the water. When it was sopping wet, she scrubbed off a sizeable chunk of spider gore from the helmet with some force. "See? Now, you do the rest of that. I've got some bread in here somewhere," she muttered, handing him the rag. He nodded and thrust the rag into the water, cleaning off the green slime.

They worked quietly: Siona prepared a midday meal of bread and cheese as Erik wiped down his armor, removing the smell and the quickly crusting spider gore from the glassy surface. After a while, he finished, and accepted the bread and cheese thankfully. They ate in silence, looking around the vast cavern in amazement.

"The Dwemer were amazing architects," Erik said wistfully.

"Aye, but cruel and vicious people," Siona replied, taking a bite of cheese. "They blinded the Falmer and forced them to be their slaves after the Snow Elves took sanctuary with the Dwemer during the driving of the elves out of Skyrim. When they disappeared, the Falmer were left down here. The underground has become their domain, and they hate the above-ground with a passion, though they will never step into it." Siona was thoughtfully quiet for a moment. "I suppose Dwemer were much like an other race: they created such beauty, and were renowned for their intellect, yet they destroyed so much. I suppose it's just the balance of the world."

Erik nodded, finishing his bread in two sharp, short bites. He stood and began strapping his armor back on. "We should start searching for the researchers," he remarked, placing the helmet back on. Siona nodded, leaning her head up.

"Supposedly they would have continued forward, rather than going down as we did," she mused.

"Yes," Erik agreed awkwardly, unsure of whether or not this was true. He had only ever tracked animals no bigger than foxes. People were far more unpredictable. Better to trust the Dragonborn.

They climbed back up to the walkway and to the door, Siona pushing it open gently. It swung open silently, remarkable for its imagined age. Siona would have guessed that the hinges would have rusted a bit by now, but no matter.

"I think these are the quarters," she murmured as they began to turn a corner. Something moved and she stopped quickly, almost forgetting to breathe. Erik, far more conscientious, stopped almost immediately behind her.

"More Falmer," she said, her voice barely heard over the hissing of the generators. She suddenly straightened and let out a keening whistle. The Falmer at the top of the stairs made a hissing sound and bounded for them.

Siona changed her grip on her sword and threw it like a javelin towards the charging elf. It sank straight through the neck of the creature, and, with a wet gurgle, it fell forward, dead.

A second Falmer bounded up the stairs, arrow nocked in its nasty looking bow, but it stumbled backwards, hit in the shoulder by a straight arrow. Erik pulled back another arrow, letting it loose as the monstrous thing stumbled forward for a second round. This time, the iron tip pierced the Falmer's thin chest where its heart would be. It fell backwards down the stairs, dead.

"Nicely done," Siona said, eyebrows raising as she looked back at Erik. He was glad that the helmet hid his flush of pride.

"What was that trick with the sword and the throwing...?"

Siona grimaced as she bent to retrieve it, freeing the blade with a slick sound from the creature's neck. "Well, that I learned from an Argonian. Lovely fellow, really, though he was an assassin. Bit of a killjoy," she said lightly. Erik winced at the bad joke. "But look at you. You're better than me with a bow. I panic, mostly, and end up wasting my arrows, shooting them randomly." She laughed as she sheathed her sword. "I'll be lucky if I ever hit the target."

"Maybe I'll show you a few tips sometime," he said hesitantly. Siona paused and nodded.

"That would be good." She started walking again. "Let's get moving again."

They headed forward, Erik slowing every once in a while to admire the ragged tapestries and the scattered artifacts. Siona had to remind him of the researchers.

Finally, they entered a doorway, and they both halted, staring at the two dead Falmer at their feet.

"So clearly something killed these two," Siona muttered, kneeling beside them to rifle through the corpses. "Not other Falmer, but maybe Dwemer mechanisms, if they're still active. Or the researchers!"

"Why do you always do that?" Erik asked thickly. She looked up at him in puzzlement.

"Do what?"

"Go through the bodies. Pick stuff off of them. Don't you think it's a little odd?" he asked, his brow lowering.

Siona looked back at the two Snow Elves and shrugged, pocketing a few septims. "It's habit, I guess. And sometimes, there's actually stuff I can use."

"I suppose," Erik said reluctantly. Siona rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. Let's just keep moving forward, aye?"

She looked up and frowned as three Falmer stared back down at them. "Damn, we've got to be quieter," she said to Erik with a scowl as they both unsheathed their weapons. There's was a burst of fire from the top of the stairs; Erik saw a frostbite spider rock onto its back, charred by flame. Before he could question this curiosity, though, Siona was halfway up the stairs with a war cry worthy of any Nord, slashing at the thrice damned elves. They fell before her, one, two, three, each rolling down the stairs to stop in front of Erik.

He blinked. "Well, that was thrilling," he said dryly. Siona grinned back at him, smearing the blood on the front of her armor as she tried to wipe it off. She continued climbing the stairs and crouched by the dead frostbite spider, examining the ground.

"I think our researchers are closer than we thought," she said, squinting to look closer. Erik bounded up the stairs and stood over her, staring at the ground.

"Um. What exactly am I looking for?" he asked sheepishly.

Siona pointed to the burn marks left behind by the sudden flame. "It's a rune. Could have been set by the Falmer but I doubt it. No, I think this was set as a barrier by the researchers. They did have some magical experience, after all," she remarked, almost to herself. She smiled triumphantly. "So they must still be alive!"

Erik looked up and he turned pensive. "Not quite, Siona."

Siona glanced to where he was gesturing. Her face fell as she stared at the blood, glistening in the low light of the ruin.

"Shor's bones," she said hoarsely, standing to walk over to the scene.

One of the researchers was propped against the table, his hood still pulled up over his head. Blood soaked his robe, and the pages of a book near him. His eyes gazed blankly past Siona's shoulder as she stood next to him.

"I guess we were too late, then," she said glumly, picking up the book and flicking through a few pages. Erik examined the man closely.

"So who's he?"

"Stromm, according to this," Siona replied absently, still reading. Her eyes brightened. "But apparently he was waiting for the others to return." She looked up hopefully at Erik. "They could still be alive!"

Erik nodded. Siona sat down beside the dead man and continued reading, a little more hopeful. Erik looked around, bored; his gaze snagged on a tree.

A tree. Underground. With no sunlight and no rain? _How odd_, he thought to himself, moving closer to it. Why would there be a tree underground? And how is it still alive, after all these years of being unattended?

Siona looked up, as he moved closer to the tree. An orange pulsing right beneath his raised foot caught her eye.

"Erik! The traps!" she managed to gasp out, launching herself forward.

As his foot fell, the trap burst apart. The explosion knocked the approaching Siona several feet backwards. She stared in horror as Erik was engulfed in a torrent of flame, his silhouette clearly visible in the bright light...


	10. Chapter 9: Burns

It was fuzzy, and dark. Erik felt as though he was floating, and a peculiar warmth travelled up and down body. He tried to turn his head, attempting to see through the cloudy veil, but found he couldn't. Trapped in his body, he followed the pulsing warmth as it moved from his toes to his feet.

Coolness suddenly spread across his forehead, and trailed down his temples. The warmth faded, and a slight pressure on his forehead awakened a million other feelings: pain, mostly, all across his arms and legs. It bit at him like tiny needles, pricking at his skin. He opened his mouth, suddenly in control of his body.

"Siona?" he said, his voice only a shade above silence.

His eyes opened slowly, and he found himself staring up at her face, concentrated on his arms. She ran her hands over his skin, leaving behind a soothing glow as her fingers lightly prodded at the pink flesh, his head in her lap. She hadn't noticed he was awake yet.

He turned his head a fraction, trying to look around. What did he remember? Fire. Lots of fire, in a quick burst. And an excruciating pain. Well, there was his armor: blackened and ashy. A pile of charred rags sat to the side. And that's when he realized he was in his underwear. He blushed furiously.

"You're awake!"

He looked up at Siona, who was staring at him with a mix of surprise and - was that tenderness? "What happened?" he rasped. She picked up a small golden bowl, filled with water, and tilted it towards his mouth. He drank it in great gulps, the liquid spilling out the sides of his mouth and down into the curve of his jawline.

"You triggered one of the traps," Siona explained as he finished the bowl of water. "You passed out from the pain, and I brought you into one of the bedrooms, and barred the door, just in case. I didn't want to put you onto a bed until I was sure you would be alright."

Erik looked around; he saw stone beds to either side of where he lay on the floor.

"I wouldn't suggest you move; I've been trying to reverse the damage." She resumed moving her hands over his arms lightly. Erik saw now that her fingertips were glowing with a golden light. "I won't be able to remove all of the scarring, but I can do my best to minimize it."

"How long have I been out?" he managed to cough out after a moment.

Siona hesitated. "About two or three days. I'm not sure; I can't tell down here." She wiped a hand across her forehead. "I know I've slept three times, and I've eaten six. We're running low on food supplies, though."

"What about the researchers?" he asked, gaining his voice a bit more as Siona gently laid down his head on the floor and moved to work over his legs with gentle hands. She paused at the question before sighing.

"I had you healing in here, but I went out to look for them while you recovered." She shook her head. "I know that so far, Erj and Krag are dead, and I don't have high hopes for Staubin. This place is crawling with Falmer," she said in disgust, fists clenching and unclenching. "There is one place I haven't looked in. I thought I should let you heal before we searched for Staubin."

Erik looked at her as she ran her hands over his legs, the pain slowly receding. "Thank you," he finally said. Siona looked up at him, and turned absolutely crimson.

"I just..." she began before cutting herself off and clearing her throat. "I mean, I would feel guilty if you died on my watch. You know. It's not exactly a good feeling." She hesitated. "And I think you're important, so you dying wouldn't exactly help anything."

Erik blinked before resting his head back on the floor and staring at the ceiling. "You think I'm important?" he asked thickly. Siona's hands stopped moving and she slowly straightened.

"Erik. Really." She moved to look him straight in the eyes, bent over his head. "Do you think I ask anyone to come with me? Anywhere?" She smiled; Erik was thrown off by the genuine gentleness behind it. "I've known you're important since I met you. You're going to do great things someday, I can feel it."

They smiled at each other for a bit, Siona's hand next to his bare shoulder as she hovered over his chest, blue eyes moving down his chest to right over his heart.

"Erik, what's this from?" she asked, her fingers gently touching a small dented discoloration in the flesh. His eyes flicked over to her face.

"Archery practice with a couple of hunters from around the village," he said. "One of them was teaching their child with me, and he accidentally shot me."

Siona looked at him in horror. "That's awful!"

He chuckled. "Well, they were only practice arrows, so they didn't pierce the skin too badly. But scars aren't a bad thing. They're like individual reminders of memories." He smiled. "Good or bad."

Siona unconsciously touched her shoulder. "I can understand that," she said quietly. Her eyes met his and they stared at each other. Erik found himself drawn into her gaze, strangely distant, while she struggled not to do something stupid. There was a moment of silence, and Erik suddenly flinched in pain.

"Agh!" he howled, his right leg spasming. Siona moved quickly, running her hands over the dry and scabbed skin, her cheeks burning. The scabs slowly faded as she pressed her stubby fingers to the skin, cursing herself inwardly. _Idiot, you're not interested in him, you're not interested in him._..

His expression of pain slowly faded and he let out a pent up breath of air. "Well that hurt," he said flatly. The corners of Siona's mouth pulled down and she bit her lip.

"Sorry. I should have been paying attention," she muttered.

"It's not your fault."

She hid her red cheeks as she continued working on his legs. "This should be enough to have you right as rain in a few hours," she remarked. 'I'll start making dinner. Or what should be dinner. I don't know."

Erik attempted to turn over onto his stomach. "No!" Siona yelped. He stopped abruptly, bewildered at her panic. "If you move anymore, it won't work, and you'll be in massive pain," she said cautiously.

"So I have to stay in one position for the rest of the time?" he groaned.

"Something like that," she replied. "But I'll keep you company."

"Hmph." But he didn't move.

Siona began to pull apart a loaf of bread into pieces small enough to feed Erik in this state. She pushed each scrap into his mouth gently, letting him swallow before she would continue. After a while, the loaf was gone, and Erik was back to staring at the ceiling.

They passed the hours in silence, Siona cleaning Erik's charred armor to the best of her abilities and Erik staring listlessly at the ceiling. After a while, she scooted over to Erik, her fingers probing the fleshy bits of his knee and the inside of his arm. She nodded.

"You should be fine, now. I'll let you look at the damage yourself. The only scars that should stay are on your shins and your arms, where it went under your armor." She grimaced at the thought before withdrawing her fingers. "Take a look."

Erik slowly clambered to his feet, letting his hands move over his arms. The skin was pink and shiny, smooth to the touch. There was no tenderness, but it certainly felt...different, somehow. He bent to look at the scars on his legs. They swirled across his shins, like strange tattoos. He looked up at Siona with a crooked grin.

"My first war wounds," he said. Siona smiled back at him before glancing back at the pile of charred, bloody rags on the ground.

"I hate to make your do this, but I guess you'll have to wear your armor without anything underneath it. Uh," she said, her face going crimson as her eyes flicked down to his underwear. "I mean without your clothes. You can wear, um, that, of course."

They stared at each other with red faces before Erik scrambled to strap on the glass armor, muttering a hasty apology to Siona, who pretended not to hear him as she focused fixedly on putting her own armor on. After a moment, they turned to look at each other with embarrassed half smiles.

"Ready?" she asked.

"I suppose so," he replied. "But where exactly are we going?"

"Well, Staubin, I believe, went to the control room. So we're going there." She unsheathed her sword, testing the blade's edge against one finger before slamming it back into its sheath.

"Do you know where that is?" Erik asked cautiously. Siona nodded. "Then let's get going."

They exited the bedrooms, sneaking back into the main room. Erik flinched at the startling sight of many dead Falmer on the bridge, turning to Siona.

"Did you do this?" he whispered. Siona nodded grimly.

"There must be a city of them hidden away. Too many of them, overall." She grimaced. "I imagine we'll run into even more of them."

She opened a door and they scurried inside as fast as their crouching would allow them. Erik tried to study as much of the ruin as he could, but Siona was on a mission. Finally, after much walking, a few quick fights with unsuspecting Falmer, and much catching up on Erik's part, they found themselves in front of a door. Siona pushed it open and paused; Erik finally reached her after being many paces behind, his face tight.

"Are you alright?" she asked unsurely. Erik hesitated before nodding. Siona scowled at him, pushing her finger into his face threateningly. "Dragonshit. What's wrong? And don't you dare tell me 'nothing', because that's a dragonshit answer, too."

Erik let out a sigh before stepping forward and grimacing in pain. "It's my right leg. Been feeling wonky ever since I stood up."

Siona groaned in reply, pinching the bridge of her nose with gauntleted fingers; there were marks when she removed her hand. "That was the leg that was in so much pain earlier, wasn't it?" He nodded, and her shoulders slumped. "Alright. This is just a guess, Erik, but it's possible that you're going to have a damaged right leg for the rest of your life, unless we can get you to an experienced healer." She hesitated. "I know one, but it would take us a while to get there..."

"Siona." The sound of him speaking her name made her look up, startled at the strange tone it had. "I'll be fine. We can wait. For now, let's just keep going."

She hesitated. "I just think it wouldn't be good on your leg, and I told your father I would look after you and - "

He held up one hand and she fell silent. "I am an adult, Siona, and older than you, so I'm going to tell you to quit worrying about me. I appreciate the concern, but we are in the middle of something right now." He gave her a weary, crooked smile. "Besides, isn't adventuring overcoming what the world has to throw at you?"

Siona gave him a look. "Really, you're going to play my own words against me?" But she smiled in spite of herself. "Alright, let's keep going. But this conversation isn't over," she added warningly, holding the door open for Erik as he limped inside. He rolled his eyes.

"Really, you and my father are practically the same person," he muttered, though a smile twitched across his face.

The control room was dark, and dank. It smelled of wet earth to Erik, like that of the dirt after rain, but mustier and stale. He limped on, relying heavily on his good leg, Brightarc at the ready. Wary this time, he stepped around a trap, focused on the ahead, even though he had no idea where he was going.

Siona let him continue on, following slowly behind. She felt sick to watch him drag his right leg a bit, feeling like it was her fault, but she tried to steady herself. _It's not your fault_, she told herself. _He probably moved his leg at one point, or it was irreparable. Something. You did your best, and hey, he's not dead! That's a step up, right?_ Nonetheless, she let out a slow breath of air and watched him as he took the lead.

Good for him, anyways. He was right - adventuring was about continuing on in the face of all the problems that you could possibly face. Siona remembered bleeding from extensive dragon wounds as she ran to the closest town for healing. She had nearly died. Erik was lucky to have a friend with him when he got in trouble this time, but he wouldn't always have the Dragonborn to save him... Dread suddenly filled her. Erik would have to leave her sometime, after all. Oh, gods, what was she fretting about? Of course he was going to leave her! In her mind, she cursed Mara for the unwelcome burden of her emotions. This would be so much easier if her heart didn't start cartwheeling every time she saw the red-headed Nord...

She shook her head, almost missing the sight of him nailing a stray Falmer between the eyes with a well-calculated shot from his bow. She blinked as it toppled, giving a final twitch as it died. Siona stared at Erik, who looked calm and determined. Was this the whelp that had gone bounding after every bunny in the brush almost two weeks ago? True, he wasn't a hardened, wise adventurer, but he had certainly improved... Matured would be a better word. He had become more of an adult.

Erik noticed a sudden movement at the top of the stairs and quickly strung up another arrow, pointing it at the movement. Yet another Aedra damned monstrosity. He could feel Siona staring. _Why wasn't she doing anything?_ he wondered before letting the arrow fly.

It pierced the Falmer in the shoulder and it screeched, jumping down to attack Erik head on. He let the bow drop, pulling out the glass sword in a quick movement. The Falmer attacked from the right. Erik lashed out with the blade. It sliced into the Falmer's middle, and the creature hissed, raising a strange axe to slam it against his helmeted head. The blow left Erik feeling dizzy, and he stumbled, wincing at the pain in his leg. Changing his grip on the sword, he stabbed upwards. The blade skewered the Snow Elf with a slick, wet squelch, lifting the grey figure into the air. It made a squeak similar to the death squeal of a dying rabbit before the breath left its body.

Erik let the elf slide off his sword and removed his helmet, rubbing the throbbing spot where the axe had fallen. He glanced back at Siona. "How much farther?" he asked, biting back a wince as a twinge of pain flew through his leg.

Siona shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like I've been here before."

"You're so helpful."

"I try."

They continued onward, more slowly than usual as Siona let Erik lead, watching closely for any traps and such. However, it was Erik who found the corpse.

"Well, I guess all of this was a waste," he said gruffly, shifting his weight to his good leg. Siona knelt beside Staubin's body to wrench the partially open and bloody journal from his stiffened hand.

"I worried that this was the case," Siona murmured as she turned the pages, reading closely. There was a moment of silence before she looked back up at her companion, confusion plain on her face. "There's a switch somewhere close by, apparently. Staubin was trying to get to it, but he...well, died." She looked down at the corpse before looking back up at Erik. "I think we should go hit the switch."

Erik shrugged. "I guess."

"Well, it's supposed to awaken the city." Siona snapped her fingers. "It'll start the defense mechanisms, and probably eradicate the Falmer. We might be able to get out in the ensuing chaos, even with your, uh, leg."

"Sounds good," Erik said distantly, gazing at the stairs ahead of them. "Maybe the switch is that way?"

He began to limp up the stairs, Siona following closely behind. They came to the first level, and Erik frowned.

"Well, it's not here," he proclaimed. There was a strange clicking and whirring. The two twenty-somethings turned to the source and found themselves staring at metal spheres.

"Ysmir's beard, what the hell are those things?" Erik asked before being shoved aside by Siona. She planted herself in front of the red head, taking a deep breath. Erik's eyes widened as the spheres broke apart, stretching upwards to form humanoid mechanisms with frightening looking arms. No, they weren't friendly.

"_FUS RO DAH_." Siona's thu'um blasted the two across the room as they raised their arms to attack. The impact of hitting the stone walls broke off some pieces and severely denting the metal. The whirring died down, and they stopped moving in a blast of sparks. Siona straightened and adjusted her helmet.

"What were those?" Erik repeated in confusion.

"Dwarven spheres," she replied. "The Dwemer ruins are crawling with defense mechanisms like that. That's the weird thing about this place: no machines, just Falmer. But apparently, this switch of Staubin's will awaken them, and the Falmer will be distracted enough for us to escape."

"This plan makes a lot more sense now," Erik mused, his mouth twitching as a flash of pain went up his leg.

Siona folded her arms. "Were you even listening earlier?"

"Not really. But let's go flip a switch."

They continued onward, Siona eradicating the Falmer standing in front of the switch. Erik hobbled to the lever, and, wrapping both hands around it, pulled hard. There was a grinding of gears, a grunt from the generators, and suddenly, the ruins began to hum.

They hurried away, Erik's face set in stone as he tried to ignore the pain playing the nerves in his leg like a lute. They hurried out one door, and he stopped to gape at the gigantic metal man battling three Falmer.

"That's a Centurion!" Siona shouted over the clanking and the screeching. "I wouldn't suggest tangling with one unless you want to die, what with your leg."

Erik nodded, and they hurried on, past the fighting mechanisms and through the ruins, until they had traversed past Nimhe's corpse and through excavation site, until they tumbled out the front doors, Siona calling to Calcelmo for help as Erik melted to the floor, his leg feeling as though it was on fire all over again. In his pain, the edges of his vision began to go black, the lump on his head throbbing. Siona took him by the shoulders, her shouting fading with his vision as the mages quickly approached, magic crackling over their hands. Soon, everything was black, and silent.


	11. Chapter 10: Awakening

Erik shifted from his position in front of the fire, trying to avoid Argis's frightening scowl. He gripped the cane's handle in his right hand, a gift from the Jarl, though Erik suspected it was more to incur Siona's favor than to show kindness to Erik.

Speaking of the Redguard, why was she taking so long? Erik glumly fiddled with the neckline of the green silk clothing that his friend had given him for the banquet that night. He had managed to bathe, shave, and clothe himself in less than fifteen minutes, and he had been standing in the same position for almost half an hour. Frankly, he was beginning to feel a bit toasty, but that glare of Argis's kept him meekly standing by the fire.

He sighed and tapped the side of his fine leather boots with the golden, Dwemer style cane. Blasted stick. It was bad enough that his leg was still a bit weak after that torturous run in the ruin last week, but the cane made him feel inept. _Insult to injury_, he thought blackly. He glanced at Argis, who hadn't moved an inch in his sitting position, burly arms crossed tightly over the armor he was always wearing. The housecarl's gaze narrowed, and what sounded like a growl escaped his clenched teeth.

_That man is a bear_, Erik thought as he shrank from him, turning his gaze quickly back to the flickering flames. The fire was always so lively. Probably Argis's work. Erik's eyelids lowered halfway as he let his thoughts overtake him. _I wonder if Siona ever took him as a lover_, he thought idly. _Maybe if he's her 'type', or something. Does she take bears as lovers?_

He paused in his thinking. By the Nine. Siona's love life was no concern of his. His cheeks flamed up. She'd probably hit him if he even thought of discussing it. Blast him across Markarth with her Shouts. He shook his head, moving his thoughts to other things, but his gaze fell upon the table, upon the red bottle, filled with what he knew was a vile concoction, similar to sludge.

Sighing, he hobbled over to the table under Argis's gaze and unhappily uncorked the bottle. Better to drink it now than to return from the banquet in enough pain to incapacitate a horse. He pressed the bottle to his lips, gagging at the taste. He supposed he should be thankful, even though it was the taste equivalent of drinking puréed horker skin. He should be thankful that he could still walk...

. . .

The guards laid the (again) almost naked Erik gently on the bed in the Hag's Cure, Siona following close behind. She placed her helmet on the table with a thunk and turned to Muiri, the young woman apprenticed under Bothela.

"Muiri, can you please go to Vlindrel Hall, and tell Argis that I'm here at the Hag's Cure? Tell him that I'll send for him when I need him."

She passed her several large coins and a quick, harried smile before turning back to the motionless Erik on the bed.

"Well, what do we have here?" came the rasping voice of Bothela, the shopkeeper of the Hag's Cure. The elderly woman squinted at Siona through her strange facial tattoo before giving her a curt respectful nod, which was returned. "Lady Dragonborn. A pleasure to see you again." She looked at the still figure on the bed. "One of your casualties?"

"This is Erik. My friend, and my charge."

"He seems a little old for you to be his caretaker," Bothela said wryly, but she bent over Erik. Her lank white hair fell across her face as she studied him. "So what seems to be the problem?"

"While we were in Nchuand-Zel, he ran into a fire trap."

"I see the healed scars of severe burning," Bothela muttered, looking up at Siona, "but I imagine that was due to your own healing skill." Siona nodded.

"His right leg did not heal correctly, though, and after we were escaping the ruin, he passed out from the sheer pain."

"How was he walking before that?" Bothela asked, moving her focus towards Erik's hairy legs.

"Slowly, and limping. He couldn't move without hurting." Siona chewed her lip nervously as she settled down on the chest at the foot of the opposite bed.. "I'm worried he won't be able to walk as well as he could before."

"Oh, he'll be fine," Bothela scoffed. "Give him a day here, and some medication for about a week, and he should be right as rain."

Siona blinked, rocking back and forth in her sitting position. "Do you know what the problem is?"

"No, but there a couple of, ah, native remedies," the elderly alchemist said, giving Siona a significant look as she tapped the side of her craggy nose, "that should fix it up. And the potions will stave off the pain, and let the remedies do the trick."

Siona nodded meaningfully. Bothela's discretionary use of Forsworn magic in her potions and healings made them work all the better. While many Nords of Markarth were suspicious of and hated the Forsworn, Bothela was the child of the natives, and thus taught all of their magics. Her father had been a Briarheart, but she had lost faith in their tactics and beliefs, after watching many of her friends die for an already dead ideal. Now she strove to teach Muiri the same healing spells and remedies that her father had taught her, so as to ensure that the methods would never fade from existence.

Bothela sighed to herself as she watched the look in Siona's eyes change as she turned her gaze to Erik. "Siona," the old woman said gruffly. The young warrior looked up in surprise. Bothela hadn't called her that for years, since she was taught alchemy besides Muiri. "Your young man is going to be alright. But you'll have to tell me: do you have feelings for him?"

Siona's blush answered her question, and Bothela gave her a tight lipped smile. "How long?"

The Dragonborn hesitated. "Maybe a few months," she squeaked. "But I've tried to stave it off as best as I could, because he's my friend, you know? I don't want him to break my heart when he leaves."

Bothela smiled wickedly. "I could whip up an elixir for you. Perchance you could slip it into his drink, and your affections wouldn't be so misplaced..."

"NO!" Her shout quivered with her thu'um, and the two glanced around them, startled, as the building shook slightly, before Siona looked back at her old alchemy mentor. "No. I want him to make his own choices." Siona bowed her head, raking her hands through her black hair. "He just escaped a life where he couldn't decide his future, and I don't want to be the one to lead him down into another path that he can't stray from." Her pained face revealed more to old Bothela than Siona could guess, but the old woman left well enough alone.

"Alright, well, would you be more some comfortable with some food or drink, Lady Dragonborn?" Bothela smiled, the crags in her face deepening. "We have the wine you used to love, the one made with snowberries. I've kept it cold with some of my frost salts."

Siona let out a breath of pent up air. "That would be lovely, Bothela. Thank you." She held up a hand as the elderly woman moved to serve her. "I can get it myself, though. Thank you."

She sat cross-legged in the main room of the shop, behind the counter, with a goblet of wine and the bottle, when the door opened and Muiri hurried through. The young woman paused to see the Dragonborn lounging on the floor.

"Lady Dragonborn, won't you please be seated?" Muiri asked quickly as she gestured to the rickety chair. Siona shook her head.

"I'm fine, Muiri." She sighed and lifted the goblet to her lips, taking a deep gulp that left the cup nearly empty. She poured another goblet and gestured to Muiri with it. The young woman took it from her cautiously and Siona frowned slightly.

"Muiri, I'm your friend. Can you look past the Dragonborn part for a minute? It's been years since we've seen each other," she pleaded. Muiri hesitated before sitting beside her, the goblet cupped between her hands.

"Did you really enter Nchuand-Zel?" the Breton asked in wonder, taking a small sip of the sweet, chilled wine. Siona smiled, running a hand through her short hair. The motion left it sticking up haphazardly.

"Yes."

"That must have been amazing," Muiri breathed. "A real Dwemer ruin..." She shook her head. "But who's the man traveling with you?"

Siona smiled. "That's Erik. He's from Rorikstead, and he wants to be an adventurer, so I brought him with me." Her eyes dimmed as she thought of him, lying on the bed, unmoving. "I'm starting to think it's a bad idea, though."

"Why?" Muiri tilted her head, giving her friend a questioning glance.

"It's his first adventure, and I've practically crippled him," Siona said with a sigh, pouring more wine into her goblet. She took a deep swallow of the burgundy liquid. "I'm pretty terrible about taking care of him."

Muiri scoffed. "Don't be stupid, Siona, he'll be fine." Siona looked at the Breton, startled. "You're just fishing for pity, and you know it."

Siona was silent for a moment before she gave her friend a smile. "Ah, I forgot how blunt you are. But so honest, as well." She nodded. "You're right. It'll take some time, but he'll be fine."

"That's the spirit." Muiri tipped more wine into the Redguard's goblet. "Now drink up. I'm fairly certain it'll be a while before your friend is alright." She winked at Siona over the rim of her own goblet. "Surely the time can be passed more merrily with a few more drinks."

They each took long draughts before clinking the goblets together, grinning.

. . .

Erik screamed as a face that seemed to be of nightmare material was the first thing he saw when he awoke. The face smiled, making the frightening pattern across its features every scarier.

"So you're awake," it rasped. Erik blinked and realized it was a woman. An extremely old woman, with a strange and savage facial tattoo, but a woman nonetheless. The woman straightened, turning towards the doorway of the small room they were in.

"Lady Dragonborn? He's awake!" she called, but there was no response. The old woman frowned and hurried out of the room. Erik sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. His right leg felt better. Moving it experimentally, a flash of pain went up his thigh and he paused. Glancing around, he found a pair of men's trousers and quickly put them on. Why, in all the planes of Oblivion, was it that he kept waking up in his skivvies? He tightened the cord of the trousers and limped over to the doorway. The elderly woman held a scrap of paper in her hand, looking bewildered as her feet knocked over three of four wine bottles.

She noticed Erik standing in the doorway and put her hands on her hips. "Young man, you should be back in bed!"

"Where's Siona?" Erik demanded weakly, though his strength was returning quickly. The old woman looked back down at the note, a wry look on her face.

"Apparently, she took my apprentice to go find more spirits," she replied, walking over to pass the note to the red-headed Nord. He stared at the messy scrawl in blinking confusion. "So I imagine they'll come back as drunk as two horse grooms."

"Horse grooms aren't always drunk," Erik mumbled.

The elderly woman raised an eyebrow. "Obviously you haven't been to the Markarth stables."

The door burst open with a bang and Siona pranced in, followed by Argis, carrying a giggling Muiri over one shoulder

"Bothela!" Siona sang, throwing an arm around the old woman's shoulders. She planted a kiss on the old woman's cheek. "You're the best alchemist a girl could have, you know that? Because I know that. I thought you should know that. Everyone should know that," she mumbled, her words running into each other,

When she saw Erik, her blue eyes brightened. "Erik!" she crowed, bounding up the stairs. Argis placed the still giggling and hiccuping Muiri in a chair as Siona ran a finger down Erik's nose.

"You're the cutest little red-headed Nord I know, you know?" She leaned forward, grinning wildly.

"You're drunk," Erik said.

"I know!" Her eyes widened a fraction. "It's amazing!" She reached out with both arms and wrapped them around Erik. "But back to you. You really are just the cutest thing I know. Well, I suppose you're not cute." She hiccuped. "Cute is for little boys. And you're definitely not a little boy." Erik turned red and she giggled. "Look, Muiri, his cheeks match his hair!"

She lurched forward and planted her lips right on his. He stiffened and then relaxed, blinking as she kept her mouth pressed to his, eyes closed. Thankfully she was quiet.

Finally, she removed herself and giggled quietly. "I probably shouldn't have done that," she said, ending the sentence with a hiccup. She turned around, making a flourish with one hand. "Let's us be away, Argis!"

She skipped out of the shop, Argis giving Erik the death stare. The poor redhead was rooted to the spot, staring after Siona as she left. Bothela tsked to herself, pulling up the still giggling Muiri and dragging to her to bedroom before tucking her into one of the beds. The old woman walked back to Erik, shaking her head.

"Argis will take care of the Lady Dragonborn tonight." She crossed her arms. "I would suggest staying at the Silver-Blood Inn tonight, and meet her in the morning." A cloth bundle wrapped around a stick was passed to him. "That's a shirt, and a cane. Now get out of my shop, so I can close."

Standing in the cool night air if Markarth, Erik touched his lips. Where Siona had kissed him still burned, like fire. He rolled his shoulders and began to hobble down the steps, leaning heavily on the cane, down to the Silver-Blood Inn.

. . .

Erik grinned to himself as he remembered the hungover mess she was the next morning. Thankfully, she didn't remember much. He glanced at the housecarl. But Argis did. Argis remembered everything.

The taste of the painkiller potion still remained on his tongue, but his leg felt good as new. He would still need the cane, because the potion's effects would fade, but until then, he could just carry it around.

He studied the ceiling halfheartedly, growing impatient. Really, where was Siona? How long did it take to put on a dress?

As that last thought flitted away, the door to her room opened. Erik glanced over and gaped.

She stared back at him, her eyes outlined with gold kohl that made them stand out. The blue sleeveless tunic was tight over her torso and hips, with loose golden trousers, in the style of Hammerfell garb; it all accentuated her slim figure, strangely feminine to Erik. He had seen her so often in armor, it was hard to imagine that she could look so ladylike. A sapphire was hung by simple golden chain around her neck; two delicate chains hung from her ears, precious blue stones suspended above her sloping shoulders. Her slippers moved softly against the floor, and soon, she was standing beside Erik, a small smile on her reddened lips. He could see small, seed-like golden beads, peeking out in her hair and catching the light, like water droplets.

She was beautiful.

"Are you ready?" she asked. Erik nodded wordlessly, staring at his friend. Some unnamed thing awoke inside him at the sight of her. Not lust. But what..?

"You don't need to come, Argis. We can defend ourselves," Siona was saying as Erik fumbled with his thoughts, jumbling them up even more. "It's only a short walk to the Keep."

"Are you sure, my Thane?" the housecarl asked, eyeing Erik with more suspicion than usual.

"I'm sure." Siona walked back over to Erik, the dangling sapphires swinging back and forth. She slipped her arm through his, and he found himself imagining her rough, wine-tasting kiss from those last week. "Come on."

They walked through the door into the cool summer night, each struggling with something they couldn't place. Their footsteps soon faded into the evening.


	12. Chapter 11: The Banquet

**_Author's Note_: Hi, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone that's reviewed and decided to follow this story along. I have no idea what I'm doing, since this is my first fic, but you guys and your generous and lovely comments and compliments make me happy to continue forward. I hope I continue to keep up to your expectations.**

**Again, thank you. Annnnd back to the story.**

* * *

Erik stood awkwardly besides Siona as she chatted animatedly to several nobles. The bright lights of winking candles made his head hurt, though the copious wine wasn't helping either. He hated wine. However, he was on the lookout for any signs of tipsiness in Siona; they didn't want a repeat of last week. She could end up kissing someone who didn't want to be kissed. _Not that I wanted to be kissed when she kissed me,_ he thought hastily, his face going a bit pink. _Well, I mean, it wasn't bad, I just wasn't looking to be kissed. She's a fine kisser, if a bit sloppy when she's drunk - ERI_K, he berated himself. You are arguing with yourself and it is not helping anything.

He shifted his feet and glanced to the side. The Jarl had the Keep turned into a huge feasting hall, with candles lining the walls and at least one decorating every surface. The illumination made the stone rooms seem even bigger. A few maids, dressed in black and silver, waltzed amongst the small crowds of people scattered about the rooms, while guards stood menacingly against the walls, arms crossed (however, Erik had passed one earlier and heard the distinct sound of snoring, echoing metallically in their helmets). In the center of the throne room, past the currently empty banquet table, stood Calcelmo's monstrously large gift to the Jarl, still covered in yards of cloth with the Markarth insignia waving proudly at the front.

Erik felt out of place. Banquets to him were rowdy ordeals, feasts that were rarely made. He could only remember two in his lifetime, but both times, there had been much laughter and general roaring of speech. Here, voices were lowered, quieter, and the soothing sound of a lute played throughout. He glanced around again as Siona was greeted by a balding, middle aged man. He looked important.

Erik spied many Nords, but only one or two Bretons. Not many Mer. Except for that group of Altmer approaching.

Siona glanced at the group and stiffened imperceptibly. Erik wouldn't have even noticed it, if she hadn't tightened her grip on his arm. The Altmer at the lead smirked at the two of them, his figure exuding pretentious conceit.

"Good evening, Lady Dragonborn," he greeted, his voice sickly sweet with false kindness.

"Ondolemar. A pleasure." Her tone said the exact opposite.

"I was wondering when you would come next to this spit of rock," the Altmer said casually, his eyes watching her carefully from underneath his hood. His glance flicked over to Erik. "And who would this be?"

Siona glanced at her friend, waiting for him to introduce himself. Erik waited for Siona to introduce him. There was an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry, are you deaf, or just stupid?" Ondolemar said, raising his thin, arched eyebrows. His small mouth compressed into another condescending smirk.

Erik cleared his throat, realizing the gaffe. "I am Erik the Slayer, from Rorikstead, of the Whiterun Hold."

"A mercenary?" Ondolemar folded his arms. "Lady Dragonborn, are you so unable to defend yourself that you require such manpower? Or are you simply too lazy to do your own dirty work?"

Siona smiled toothily at Ondolemar, but it reminded Erik of a snarling wolf. "Erik is my friend. I'm simply showing him Skyrim as I know how."

"So he's not your lover?" Ondolemar asked, unfolding his arms and flexing his fingers. "That was my next guess."

"No," Siona said, her voice sounding strained. "He's not my lover. Just my friend."

Ondolemar narrowed his eyes at Erik before turning his gaze back to Siona, whose cheerful demeanor was tainted with severe anger. "Well, as I'm sure you know, we are all eager to see who you end up, ah, attaching yourself to."

Siona barked a laugh. "Who I marry, you mean?" She smiled daintily at Ondolemar with a tinkling laug.."Well, you know, I plan on marrying when I feel like it, and not to some pansy Imperial to seal some deal with the Aldmeri Dominion. And, not only is it any of your business, but you can go stick your hairy Thalmor head up your pasty yellow ass if you think that I'm going to even acknowledge your opinion on the subject."

Her last sentence rang out in the Keep, and the entire room seemed to pause, the conversation fading away. From across the room, Erik could see the Jarl's eyebrows rise high upon his forehead, struggling to keep the amusement from his face.

The rage on Ondolemar's face was volcanic. He gritted his teeth before speaking.

"You would do well to show some respect to your higher-ups," he growled.

"I'm sorry, who defeated Alduin and thus saved your pathetic little life? Because I'm _damn_ sure it wasn't your cowardly self, High Elf," Siona growled back. "You want to show some respect to _your_ higher up? Because I'm not hesitant to Shout you apart at the drop of a septim."

The two stared each other down, Siona viciously beautiful in her exotic clothing and golden makeup while Ondolemar was all scowls and angles. Finally, Erik cleared his throat.

"Nice weather you have here in Markarth," he mumbled, taking a long swig of wine. By the Divines, he hated wine. Where the _hell_ was the mead? The Altmer and the Redguard swiveled their heads to look at the redhead. "It's very mild," he continued, trying to fight down the heat he knew was rising in his face. "Back in Rorikstead, the summers would be so hot that we wouldn't bother to work but for a few hours in the day. Here, I wouldn't mind taking a walk. I imagine it's the altitude. Am I right?" he directed towards Ondolemar. The Altmer looked as dumbfounded as Siona.

"Yes," the Thalmor agent said, taken aback. "I suppose it's the altitude."

Erik nodded. "Well, it was lovely talking to you. I hope you have a pleasant evening." He steered a speechless Dragonborn away towards a maid with a tray of wine goblets. The Altmer gazed after them in confusion, but the conversation in the room swelled again. Erik placed his empty goblet on the proffered tray and picked up a full one.

"What was that?" Siona spluttered. Erik shrugged, about to take a swig of wine before changing his mind and placing it on the tray.

"Do you have any mead? For the love of the Divines, get me some mead." The maid curtsied and hurried away as Erik glanced at Siona. The candlelight made the beads in her hair glitter and flash. He leaned on the cane, grimacing as the thrice damned pains began to crawl up his leg again.

"I figured a change in subject would probably save the evening," he said lightly, through the sudden shooting pain. She looked amazing in candlelight, really... The way it reflected off those hidden curves of hers, though, was enough to make him sweat. He dragged his attention back to her eyes, hoping she hadn't noticed his change in focus.

Her face split into a smile. "Erik, you're nothing like I've ever seen before." She nodded to the maid as she returned with a mug of mead. "Ondolemar is a Thalmor agent, with the Aldmeri Dominion."

"Well I could see that," Erik replied over the rim of his mug as he took a draught. "He's a bit of a rat, isn't he?"

"Aye," Siona said grimly. "He, more so than everyone else, is watching me closely. And thus you." She grimaced. "After Alduin was defeated in Sovngarde, I've been pressured to marry, from both sides of the civil war, as well as several factions. From the Stormcloaks, I've heard proposals all the way from Ulfric himself down to one of his soldiers, Ralof; admittedly, I don't find that a bad match. Ralof is a good man, and he helped me escape from Helgen. From the Empire, I've been given the choice of a loyal Jarl, such as Igmund, or a lesser noble of the Empire. The Aldmeri Dominion, on the other hand, was quick to proffer up an Altmer of high ranking."

Her frown grew deeper. "It seems that, because I'm a woman, that I must declare an alliance through marriage." She shook her head. "Everyone is apparently blind to the fact that I am respectfully neutral in Skyrim's political affairs. I see no reason to wedge myself into the government and any politicking. My job as Dragonborn is to keep the people safe; at least, that is what I have burdened myself with. If I were to take my position as Dragonborn literally, my only job and purpose would have been defeating Alduin. I may as well have keeled over and died when he did. However, I'm still around, and so while Skyrim's problems go on, everyone seeks to bind me to their cause, and thus control my actions."

"So you turned them all down," Erik stated.

"Of course."

It was only when relief flooded his body that he even realized that he was tense to begin with. But why was he even relieved..?

"Ondolemar likes to remind me of the fact that there is a high ranking Thalmor agent waiting to wed me." Siona gave Erik a smile. "And I hate him for that. Along with that bitch of an attitude."

Erik hesitated. "Do you think you'll ever get married?"

"Doubtful." She paused. "As long as we were equal, maybe. I don't want to be glorified or belittled by any potential husband."

"Well, you should have someone who loves you and thinks that you're the sun and the stars, but respects you enough to let you wall your own path. I mean, you deserve it, of all people."

Siona glanced at him, startled, before looking down into the drink in her hand. "Thank you," she said softly, lifting her eyes to meet his after a moment. They smiled at each other before they were interrupted.

"My Lady Dragonborn! You look extraordinarily beautiful tonight, though you are always ravishing." The Jarl's forced beam was almost brighter than the candles, and hurt just as much to look at. He gave Erik a friendly nod. "And how is the leg, friend?"

"Same as yesterday," Erik replied, irritation with the man's politicking rising, but Jarl Igmund had already turned back to Siona.

"Lady Dragonborn, I have you sitting beside me for the duration of the banquet." The Jarl proffered his elbow to the Dragonborn, and she took it, giving Erik an apologetic look. "Your friend Erin will be sitting beside you."

"His name is Erik, Jarl Igmund."

"Yes, of course. My apologies." His voice floated away as the crowd moved toward the banquet table. Erik was left to hobble on his cane, muttering angrily to himself as he finally reached the table, where everyone was standing.

Erik sank into his seat with some relief. The pain was starting to make his leg stiffen, and he winced with each pang. He looked up at Siona, who was staring at him with a mixture of worry and embarrassment. Ondolemar, standing across from him, let out a breath of scalding laughter.

"Is there something on my face?" he hissed to Siona before realizing that everyone was still standing. No one was sitting down. They were all staring at him, wide eyed.

The Jarl looked at him with some amusement. "I see you are unfamiliar with my court's customs," he stated to the redhead. "Normally, one does not sit down before the Jarl does, but I will allow it, as I imagine your leg is paining you." The man glanced at Siona, obviously hoping to win her favor in his 'mercy', but she was looking at Erik still, worry written plain on her face.

The Jarl lowered himself into his seat, and everyone else followed suit. Erik let out a frustrated breath, gripping his cane tightly.

There was a gentle touch under the table on his right leg, and he turned to Siona. She gave him a comforting smile, leaning towards him conspiratorially.

"It's alright," she murmured. "I didn't know it either when I first came to Markarth. I'm glad that the Jarl was lenient, as he should be: your leg is hurting, I know."

There was a sudden warmth on his leg, and the pain melted away. His tenseness faded and he glanced at Siona, watching him underneath her golden eyelids. At this distance, he could smell her soap; a hint of jasmine floated around her, more subtle than perfume, but it certainly smelled better than sweat encased in dragon bone. She straightened, removing her hand from his knee, and the scent faded.

A familiar red bottle was placed in front of him, and Erik groaned. "Please, gods, no," he sighed. "You already made the pain go away."

"The potion is not just for the pain, it's for the actual healing of your leg, you ninny." Siona's expression grew dangerously serious. "Drink it _now_." Erik got the feeling this was her diplomacy face, the one that instantly made people do what she told them to do, because the contents of the vile red bottle were already being choked down before she was fully done with the sentence.

He was thankful when the deer was placed on the table, letting a servant cut a piece of choice meat from the platter. He devoured it hastily, trying to mask the taste of the potion on his tongue. The guests around him chattered and clucked, but he paid them no mind.

It seemed only a moment to Erik before a small bell was rung, and the conversation dropped almost instantly. Calcelmo stood in front of the cloth covered gift, looking proud.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he rumbled, taking a quick bow. "The Jarl, I'm sure, would like to thank you all for coming." There was a murmur and the court wizard smiled. "Now, as I'm sure you all are aware, we are honored with the presence of the Lady Dragonborn tonight. We owe you many thanks, my lady."

There was a round of applause and Siona smiled, giving Calcelmo a nod. Erik, however, could see the flash of irritation behind her blue eyes.

"For the end of the night, I am here to give the Jarl my gift, from the depths of Nchuand-Zel - "

"Obviously not very far into the depths, else those Falmer wouldn't have been so numerous, and Calcelmo would have warned us," Siona muttered to Erik when the redhead raised his eyebrows at the court mage's words.

" - what has been hidden since before Nords came to this fair city." Calcelmo paused dramatically. "I give you...the Markarth Centurion!"

The cloth was whipped away, slipping off the sides of the golden giant. There were gasps from the crowd, and even Ondolemar looked impressed. Erik and Siona exchanged glances, but provided polite applause.

Everyone turned to face the Jarl, who was beginning to stand, but Erik found himself caught by something strange on the Centurion. Was that a flicker?

The Jarl raised his glass, and there was a clamor as everyone followed to do so, and stood, goblets in hand.

"Siona?" Erik muttered. There was definitely a spark, by the thing's elbow.

"Stand up and raise your glass, Erik," she hissed in reply.

"A toast!" the Jarl cried. "To Calcelmo, for his wondrous find..."

_They got that from Nchuand-Zel_, Erik thought quickly to himself,_ where all the rest of the machines were dead - no, sleeping_... He suddenly thought of the Centurion fighting the Falmer on the balcony of the underground city and, like a flash, his mind connected two and two, as sparks began to flicker around the machine.

"Siona..."

"Erik, just stand up!"

"...and to the lovely Lady Dragonborn, for joining us today..."

_By the Nine_! Their triggering of the defenses had probably turned on this Centurion as well - Erik was unsure how, but the more he stared at the thing, the more it moved.

"Siona!" he barked, and she looked at him, bewildered. The Jarl's speech cut off, and he frowned at the redhead.

"What, Erik?" Siona turned to where he was pointing, just as the Centurion roared into life, gears clanking wildly. There were screams and panic overtook the crowd.

Siona sighed, reaching across to grab a sword from a stupefied guard. "Well, there goes my evening," she muttered before launching into the fray.

. . .

Argis stood from his seat as the door was flung open, banging against the stone. The two adventurers trudged in, and Argis hurried forward. "My Thane!" he greeted, looking worried. Erik was startled by the expression of emotion other than disapproval.

Siona held one hand up, flinging the sword in her hand aside. She pushed a hand through her sooty, half-tousled hair and made an attempt to straighten her burned tunic and trousers. Erik looked as bad - he had nearly gotten crushed under the falling Centurion after he landed the final blow: the arrow had struck the metal giant in the soul gem acting as the receiver.

"Let's just say Calcelmo has the worst gifts known to mankind. Remind me to ask him not to ever give me anything. _Ever_." Siona stalked over to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, throwing herself on the bed.

_Dammit_! She'd been having such a good time, barring Ondolemar. She'd actually felt pretty, for once in her life, and Erik had been with her, and they were having such a good time together, and she thought she had seen _something_ in his eyes... Frustration overtook her and she screamed into her pillow, causing the house to rock.

After the reverberations ceased, Argis cast a livid glance at Erik. The two stared at each other before Erik made a bolt to the guest bedroom as fast as his lame leg would allow, locking the door just as Argis reached it. He sighed and sat down on the bed, listening to the banging of Argis's fists against the door. Shaking his head, he placed his chin in his hand, soot dislodging from his hair and dusting his shoulders.

It was going to be a long night.


	13. Chapter 12: Moon Sugar and Morthal

**AN: This is probably going to be the most boring chapter, so I apologize, but I figured I needed to address Argis's problem with Erik and make a segue into the next leg of their journey. Thanks again to the reviewers and followers and favoriters, I like you guys. Enjoy!**

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Erik stretched his leg at Siona's request, demonstrating he had full movement. It had been a month since the fiasco at the banquet, and Erik's leg had healed up nicely. He lunged forward, nearly into the fire, but quickly straightened before he could singe himself. Siona erupted in a peal of laughter, light and easy, which made her redheaded friend blush deeply.

"Well, as I was saying, I'm fine now. I'm sure we could move on from Markarth," he said, glancing at Argis. The burly housecarl was sitting with his arms, watching Erik closely. The new adventurer swallowed and turned back to Siona, sitting across from him in a comfortable looking pair of trousers and a loose cotton shirt. Her hair was starting to grow, and it touched the bottoms of her ears, but hung in her eyes.

She nodded, tapping her lips with a stubby finger. "I suppose we could go someplace else..." the Redguard said slowly, glancing at Argis doubtfully. The burly Nord didn't move from his position, his gaze on the redhead not even flickering, and Siona turned back to Erik. "Have you ever been to Morthal?"

"Can't say I have."

Siona unfolded herself from her position on the floor by the fire and walked over to a chest. Opening it, she pulled out a letter.

"I have a request from Idgrod Ravencrone, the Jarl of Morthal. She wants me to investigate some fishiness surrounding a burned down house."

Erik raised his eyebrows. "Since when did you investigate arson?"

Siona shrugged, replacing the letter. "You do one little thing for the people, and they expect more. I haven't been to Morthal in a while; it's not exactly my favorite place, but I do have a few acquaintances there." She turned back to Erik, folding her arms. "We don't have to go, if you don't want to."

"No, no, it's fine, really." Erik raised his hands. "I am still dreadfully inexperienced. Maybe it would be a good idea to go to Morthal. And I really wouldn't mind."

"Alright. I'm sorry to have to drag you along on such a menial task, but maybe you'll make friends with the guards there." Siona resumed her seat on the floor, gazing thoughtfully into the fire. "I suppose we should leave in a few days. Tirdas would be an excellent time to do so. But I think we'll take the cart out of Markarth and leave the horses here. It'll be about fifty septims each, but the journey will be less tiring. And less painful." She leaned forward. Erik could almost see her thoughts whirring as she sorted it all out. "We should pack for about three weeks."

Erik nodded, fighting down a yawn. "I think I'm going to go to bed," he said tiredly. "It's past midnight, after all."

"Then go to bed!" Siona chuckled, shooing him away with one hand. Erik smiled lopsidedly and trudged away, the door closing behind him.

Siona stared into the fire, watching the flames dance upon the logs. The main room was silent, save for the crackle of the fireplace.

"What's gotten into you, Argis?" she said quietly, after a moment. The housecarl shifted in his seat.

"What do you mean, my Thane?"

"Drop the formality, Argis," Siona snapped, turning her head to gaze at the Nord. "You haven't referred to me as 'my Thane' since I was nineteen and fresh from Whiterun." She stood and dragged a chair closer to the housecarl, sitting to face him. "Now, what's wrong? Something has happened, and as your Thane, I demand you tell me."

Argis scowled at her, his nostrils flaring as he breathed through his nose. "Your friend is the problem," he said gruffly. Siona blinked in surprise, sitting up.

"Erik? Naive, green Erik?" she said in disbelief. Argis nodded. "You'll have to explain."

"You're a child, Siona," Argis stated flatly.

Siona frowned. "I am not!"

"You have not been around long enough to know the way of the world," the Nord continued as though he didn't hear her, arms still crossed tightly over his chest. "As we are all aware, yes, you have seen things that people here on Nirn never will. You've been to Sovngarde, and came back to tell the tale. You defeated the World-Eater, and because of it, you can be old beyond your years." Argis unfolded his arms and came forward, thick, callused fingers lacing. "But you don't understand men."

Siona blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Argis sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Siona," he said wearily, "you are young enough to be my daughter, were I settled down."

"I am aware of this, and you are as close to me as an uncle, Argis," Siona interrupted, looking confused. "But what does this have to do with anything?"

Argis shook his head. "There are things that you do not understand about the world. Men are one of them. And with you being a woman, many of them think they can take advantage of you."

"But I can defend myself easily," Siona argued. The housecarl held up one hand, and she ceased talking.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Argis said. "Who was the last man you were with?"

Siona blushed. "Argis!"

"It's an honest question, and you are a grown woman. I am impartial. But who was it?"

She ducked her head, hiding her face. "His name was Farkas, and he was a part of the Companions," she admitted.

"And did you two...?"

"No! No. Moonlight strolls and all that, but no."

"Who broke it off?"

"I did. He had a lovely voice, and his battle prowess was exceptional. But he was the first person to express an interest in me, and I mistakenly interpreted my flattered feelings for attraction. And he was rather clingy and not very intelligent."

Argis nodded. "So you have no idea what men are like."

"Well, I...uh...oh, shit." Siona groaned and thrust her hands into her hair. "You're right."

"So to prove what I was saying," Argis said, almost smugly, "you don't know how men are." He twiddled his thumbs. "Men are bastards," he said. "Men want only one thing."

"I've had this talk before," Siona replied, growing surly.

"And it was probably at a time when it didn't matter," her housecarl snapped. "Now, you have a young man following you around. Naive, and very green, but still a man. Who may or may not be attracted to you. It wouldn't matter either way." He looked at Siona squarely. "Are you attracted to him?"

Her face told him enough. "Ah." He sighed. "Siona, will you grab the pipe over the mantle?"

Siona frowned as she stood to retrieve the small wooden pipe, carved with wolves. "I thought you stopped smoking moon sugar."

"I only smoke in situations like these." He took the pipe from Siona with a wink. "And I plan to share." He fiddled with a niche in his armor, pulling out a small fire-stick, enchanted by Siona. "You need it."

"You're too old for this, Argis." But she watched as he inhaled the moon sugar deeply, breathing it out in a thin stream towards the ceiling.

"You have affections for him. That complicates things." His voice grew calmer, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. He passed the pipe over to Siona, who sucked on the stem and released the smoke in a puff that curled around her face, like a dragon.

"You will want to make him happy, make sure he's okay. He's already taking advantage of the fact that you won't let him die. But if he finds out that you are interested in him, he may take parts of you that you could never get back."

"Like what?" Siona muttered, staring at the ceiling.

"Your virginity, for one. But he might break your heart." Argis started laughing, his chuckles low. "And if he does, I'll break him."

"Argis!"

"Calm down, calm down. I was only joking." He took back the pipe and took another hit. "I'd get arrested." He passed the moon sugar back to Siona, folding his hands over his chest as he stared into space with slightly reddened eyes. "I still don't trust the whelp, though. You keep getting into dangerous situations with him, like the other night at the banquet." His giggling died away and he glanced at his thane. "You know he ran from me when I wanted to question him about his intentions?"

"Argis. For one, my job involves being in dangerous situations. You know that, and you're just making up excuses not to like him." She swung her feet beneath her chair. "For another, of course he ran from you. I would run from you. And your questioning usually involves slamming someone against a wall and screaming in their face." Siona grinned. "You're a scary man, Argis. Especially to little Erik."

They passed the rest of the evening in a silence sometimes interrupted by small giggles, before Siona dragged herself to bed and Argis stumbled down to the Silver-Blood Inn to return in the morning to help pack.

. . .

It was dark when they arrived. Erik looked around at the dank, depressing little town of Morthal.

"It's a swamp," he stated, heaving his pack over his shoulder.

"Oh, you're very observant," Siona replied sarcastically, fiddling with the travelling boots Argis had given her. She passed a coin purse to Kibell, the driver of the cart that they had ridden from Markarth for the past three weeks.

"Thanks again," she said.

"It was not a problem, Lady Dragonborn," the driver said roughly, placing a dirty hand on his balding head. "I greatly appreciated the conversation."

Siona smiled. "Tell your wife that the skeever problem will go away if you leave out some nightshade covered in butter and sugar. They'll eat it without hesitation."

"Thank you kindly. You two have a good stay in Morthal." Kibell snapped the reins, and the cart rolled away.

Erik rubbed his backside. "Well I'm glad that's over with," he stated. "I'm sure that we hit every rock on the damned road."

Siona laughed. "Oh, calm down, Erik." She looked up as a procession lit by flickering torchlight approached, her face growing staunch and calm. "Jarl Idgrod."

Erik looked at the old woman in front of him, with a too pale face and enough wrinkles to rival Bothela, made even scarier by the dancing flames of torches. Her fingernails were like claws, and her black hair made her seem all the paler. Erik would have labeled her a witch from a mile off, but Siona had told him of the situation; how the Jarl believed to have the Sight, and relied on such visions rather than what was staring her in the face. Siona had to, in the past, fix many problems in the hold, and it was what earned her the title of Thane here.

"Thane," the Jarl greeted. Her steward and husband, Aslfur, and her housecarl, Gorm, stood to either side, with a small bevy of guards following them. "I am so glad that you have taken time out of what I'm sure is a busy schedule to come and help us."

Siona gave her a wan smile. "It would be my honor to assist, Jarl Idgrod. I haven't been to Morthal in a very long time."

"Yes. Benor's been feeling lost without his sparring partner." The Jarl smiled rather condescendingly at the mention of the unattractive Nord. "But we really do need your help, Thane. The house that was recently burned down belonged to Hroggar."

"Hroggar? The poor man." Siona's expression was that of sympathy. "He must be having a rough time, trying to support his family."

"They died in the fire, Thane," the Jarl said slowly.

Siona's eyes widened. "Agata and Helgi?" she said in disbelief. Erik could see she was very shaken.

"A few people are saying that Hroggar set the fire himself," the Jarl continued, not noticing Siona's obvious distress. "He moved in with Alva the day they buried his wife and child."

"I...I will investigate the matter, Jarl Idgrod."

The Jarl gave her a quick nod and moved away, leaving Siona to her unhappy thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Erik asked, looking concerned.

"I'm fine. Agata and Helgi... Agata always took care of me when I came into Morthal, and I would always tell stories to Helgi..." She raked a hand through her hair. "I can't believe they're gone. There was no reason for Hroggar to set that fire. He loved his family."

They began walking to the inn, Siona looking distraught. "And he moved in with Alva? But he never liked her! He always called her a - "

"Siona," a voice greeted, almost purring.

The Redguard snapped her head, and she bared her teeth in a forced smile. "Whore," she finished.

The dark-haired Nord gazed at her, a cat-like smile curling across her full mouth. Erik felt himself going red as his eyes were immediately drawn down to her cleavage, where practically nothing was left to be desired in green and brown tavern dress. He snapped his eyes back up, but Alva was already gazing at him with a languid smile. He felt taken in by her strange beauty.

"Well, aren't you a handsome example of a Nord," she said, her voice low and sweet as honey, moving closer to him almost imperceptibly.

"What do you want, Alva?" Siona practically growled.

The Nord tsked, winking at Erik before turning to the Dragonborn. "Can't a girl just say hello?" Alva replied, putting one hand on a round hip. "I'm only trying to be friendly."

"Well, that's nice and all, but now I want you to go away," the Redguard snapped.

"Siona!" Erik said in embarrassment. His friend looked at him in confusion, hitching her pack higher on her shoulder. "There's no need to be so rude!"

"So the man has manners," Alva said, her eyes flickering. "How...noble."

Erik gave her a small bow. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Alva. If you could excuse us, we need to settle in at the inn."

"Well! Let me accompany you, then." Alva slipped her arm into Erik's, pressing against him. Her perfume smelled like mountain flowers, and he found himself gazing at her. She smiled back at him, lowering her eyes demurely after a moment as they walked. "I could show you around the town tomorrow, if you want."

Siona stared after the two of them, feeling a mixture in her stomach of disgust, anger, and...jealousy? _This whole attraction thing sucks dragonballs_, she thought to herself, stalking after the couple meandering to the wooden inn.


	14. Chapter 13: Seduction

**AN: I really enjoyed writing this chapter, but I feel like I wrote Siona a little too harshly in some respects. I'll talk about it more in the end, but I apologize if you find anything strange in how she acts.**

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The light of the fireplace lit the inn in a subtle orange, flickering over the few faces still sitting there, though it was close to midnight. Siona sat at the bar with a tankard of wine, staring at an opposite wall. Her mood grew blacker each time she heard Alva laugh at some words of Erik.

Siona was disgusted by Alva, how she pulled in men and twisted them around her finger. The Nord had done that to many men of Morthal, even the Jarl's husband. It had been hushed up, but it had been a nasty business, altogether.

Siona felt like throwing up as she watched Alva lightly stroke Erik's arm, her attention fully on him. By the Nine, this was what she was trying to prevent with the hunter back in Rorikstead. It made her sick to her stomach.

Alva bent forward and whispered something into Erik's ear, causing the man to go redder than his hair. He smiled shyly and said something back, and Alva's tinkling laughter filled the inn.

Siona stood abruptly, causing her chair to fall over. The couple in the dark corner looked at her, startled.

"I'm going to bed, Erik," Siona said, surly. Erik nodded, his eyes glazed, and turned his attention back to Alva, who kept her cat-like gaze trapped on Siona. The Dragonborn shot her the bird and stalked off to bed, throwing herself on the bed.

"Bitch," she muttered to herself, flipping over onto her back. She didn't even bother changing out of her civilian clothes as she fell into fitful sleep, filled with angry, jealous dreams.

. . .

Siona studied the burned down house alone. Skyrim had slipped into summer as the first of Midyear passed by, and Morthal was a muggy hell. Siona wished for a moment that she could discard the thick wool of traditional Nord clothing for the lighter, admittedly more revealing cotton of her homeland, but knew that it would be met with audacity in a town like Morthal. She could get away with it in the bigger cities, where exotic, variedly dressed travelers always were, but Morthal was a backwoods city in the middle of a swamp. Foreigners were loathe to go near it.

She focused back on the problem at hand. The house. Yes, burned down to its bare bones. She felt like she was examining a skeleton, and knew, frustratingly enough, that she wasn't going to glean anything from the charred wood and ashes. She sat down on the front doorstep with a thump, watching guards and the people of Morthal idly pass by.

That tinkling laughter again. She scowled angrily. There was no escaping it. Alva and Erik passed by, Alva carrying a crude parasol of paper and carved wood. _Had to protect that pasty white skin of hers,_ Siona thought to herself cattily, her pride severely wounded. _Gods, she looks like a vampire_. Siona wondered, briefly, what was it that made her so attractive to men. Then again, that dress was enough to leave little to the imagination.

Erik and the Dragonborn glanced at each other, and hurt welled up in Siona at his disdainful look in his eyes. Siona glanced away as Alva smirked at her over Erik's shoulder, pointing out a small landmark.

She thought back to that morning with a sour mixture of rage and depression, as Erik was shaving in his room. Siona had leaned on the doorframe, scuffing her leather shoes on the creaky wooden floor.

"I don't think you should go with Alva today. Or ever," she had finally said, after long moment of silence.

Erik had paused in his shaving, the white lather still coated on half of his face. "By the Nine, Siona, what's gotten into you?" he chuckled. "I don't see why you don't like her."

"Because she's a whore, Erik, and she's using you!" Siona had almost slammed her fist against the open wooden door but refrained, choosing instead to dig her fingernails into her palm.

The look on Erik's face was certainly offended. "Why are you being so rude about her? You don't even know her."

Siona stared at him in disbelief. "Erik, you're being an idiot. I've known her for four years, and even then she was a whore."

"Have you ever even sat down and talked to her?" Erik snapped.

"Well, no, but I - "

"Maybe before you start judging her, you should actually get to know her." He resumed shaving, carefully scraping off the stubble. "She's misunderstood. She told me last night that all the women in this town hate her, and I think it's because she's beautiful." His eyes seemed glazed over and flat.

"And because she steals their husbands!" Siona practically shouted.

"You're just jealous because she's ten times more attractive than you, and you know it."

There was a tense stillness in the air, and Siona quivered with rage, resisting the urge to Shout at him.

"Fine," she said with gritted teeth. "You and Alva can go cavort out in the marsh. I hope you have loads of hideous children."

She had stalked out of his room and out of the inn, hiding behind the ruins of Hroggar's house to sniffle and cry angry tears. Aedra _damn_ that redhead, and Aedra _damn_ his forest green eyes, and Aedra _damn_ his laughter and the way he spoke, and Aedra _damn_ how he would write in his journal, the charcoal staining his fingertips. Aedra _damn_ Erik. _Bastard_.

Siona attempted to discretely brush the wetness away that had arisen at the memory, well aware that she wasn't hidden as she was before. With a sigh, she shifted, struggling to turn her thoughts back to the problem at hand.

So no one had seen the house become burnt, and Hroggar swore to Sovngarde and back that it was probably just fat on the fire... Agata was never that careless, though. From what Siona remembered when she visited, Agata was a meticulous housewife, never leaving a spot of dust anywhere. It was highly unlikely that she had spilled fat. Anywhere.

"Siona?"

At the sound of her voice, the Redguard turned her head and scrambled away.

"_Shit_!" she said hoarsely.

The ghost stared back at her, hands behind its back and looking shy.

"Mommy always says that's a bad word," the ghost said.

Siona looked closely, and the features of the ghost were suddenly more clear, and familiar.

"Helgi? Is that you?" Siona asked softly, reaching out a hand to touch the ghost. Her fingers brushed straight through the ectoplasm.

Helgi's ghost rocked back on its heels. "Yes, Lady Siona, it's me," the young ghost said, voice high pitched. "Why are you here?"

"Your house, it..." Siona couldn't bring herself to say it.

"It burned down, I know." The child's face was one of sadness. "Mommy won't stop crying." The ghost looked like she was about to cry herself. "And I'm so lonely. There's no one to play with."

"Do you know who burned down your house, Helgi?" Siona asked, kneeling beside her.

"Will you play with me, Siona?" The child's thin, reedy voice faded and grew, oddly, as though she was being pulled back to Sovngarde and then released again.

"If I play with you, will you tell me who did this?" Siona replied.

"Of course, Lady Siona," the girl's ghost replied. "We can play hide and seek! But we'll have to wait until nightfall. The other one is playing, too, and she can't come out until then."

"The other one?" Siona repeated, confused.

"I have to go now, Mama is calling me." Helgi reached out her hand to touch Siona on the forehead, and the Redguard felt a slightly cold burning, accompanied with a rush of overwhelming grief, as the ghost's fingertips passed into her. "Bye-bye, Lady Siona."

Helgi's ghost blinked out, and Siona swallowed back her tears. The grief and the coldness passed in a moment, and she stood from her kneeling position. Poor Helgi, and Agata.

She glanced up at the sky, where the midday sun hung, bright and burning in the muggy swamp. Sighing, she headed back to the inn; she would be waiting awhile. She ignored Alva and Erik as they passed her again, trying not to make contact with his glassy eyes.

. . .

Siona was frustrated. Night had fallen two hours previously, and she had combed the small town of Morthal over four times, even going so far as to wade through the stagnant pond in the middle of town. Now she was damp, smelled like dead fish, and incredibly irritated.

_How difficult is it to find an eight year old ghost? Really_. Siona sighed and began trudging back up to the burnt house, conjuring up a candlelight to illuminate the walk. Maybe if she looked one more time.

She found herself staring at the house, her mind bringing up the same questions that had been haunting her. The bear fat on the fire was doubtful. Why would Hroggar say that? Why would he be the only one to survive? Why did he move in with Alva so quickly? Who was the 'other one' that Helgi talked about? And why the _hell_ was Erik suddenly so enamored of a woman like Alva?

Nothing made sense. And that last question made her heart sick. She had resigned herself to the fact that Erik would not requite her affections, but his saying that she was basically ugly... That hurt. Sure, she wasn't gorgeous, but she wasn't a troll, either.

She shook the image of the redhead out of her head, a small path catching her eye. Funny, she hadn't noticed that before. Maybe it would lead to wherever Helgi was hiding. Siona began to trudge up the path, thoughts of Erik persistent. _What is he doing right now? Is he "with" Alva?_ She stopped at that thought. _Oh gods. I hope not._

Continuing her walk, she suddenly crouched down, her candlelight fizzling away. There was a figure out there, and it was certainly not a ghost. She snuck closer, and the figure's head swiveled to stare at the Dragonborn. Siona cursed her luck. Sneaking really hadn't been her thing, and only ever good enough to fool the Falmer. Sometimes. Leave the shadow walking to the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood.

The figure flung itself at her, hands outstretched. It was at the sight the red energy emanating from its hands that Siona realized what was up. She dove to the side, mind whirring.

Vampire.

The vampire was definitely female, and snarled as she missed the Redguard. Siona cursed herself doubly for not bringing at least a dagger with her. How had she gotten so damned careless? She moved again as the vampire came running at her.

Judging from height and build, the vampire was a Breton. However, Siona tucked this thought away and focused on avoiding her at all costs, as she was unarmed. The Breton was having a rough time using what magic she had, though. So this was certainly no master vampire. But where there was one vampire, there was a high chance that there was another nearby. Best to keep this quiet.

Siona grabbed a particularly sharp looking rock, and launched herself at the dark haired vampire. Smashing the stone against her opponent's skull, she watched as the vampire reeled away, dazed, before tackling her to the ground, slamming her head against one of the cairns nearby. Blood stained the grey stone, and Siona listened carefully between cracks as the Breton's breathing grew more erratic. Then, there was none at all.

Siona wiped her bloody hands on her skirt, tossing the sharp stone away before standing and turning back to what appeared to be an open grave. A child's coffin leaned against one side. _Ah_.

As she approached the coffin, she heard Helgi speak. "You found me!" the child's voice squealed in delight. "Laelette was trying to find me, but I'm glad you found me first."

Siona looked over tiredly at the dead vampire. So that was Laelette. She remembered her: wife and mother, far more ruddy and cheerful than that pale corpse beside her.

"So am I, Helgi. Will you tell me who burnt your house now, dear one?"

There was a small pause before the voice spoke again. "Laelette was told to burn Mommy and me, but she didn't want to." Helgi's tone grew sad. "Laelette thought she could save me and keep me, but she couldn't. She kissed my neck, and everything got cold." Helgi sighed. "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep now."

"No, wait - who told Laelette to burn you? Helgi!"

But by then, the ghost and her voice were gone. Siona pounded a fist against the ground in frustration, sending loose dirt into the coffin. Damn her luck.

There was the sound of footsteps. Siona stood up to find herself face-to-face with Thonnir. She winced. Laelette's husband, if she remembered right. This was not going to be pretty.

Thonnir stared at her bloody skirts before looking at the corpse on the ground. "Laelette," he whispered in horror, kneeling beside the body. "You...you killed her." He switched a furious, boiling gaze to Siona, who held up her hands defensively.

"You Redguard bitch!" he snarled, and Siona's own expression darkened. He was unfortunately armed, but clumsy with the dagger, and she managed to twist his arm around his back until he cried out in pain, dropping the iron knife. She pushed him down to his knees and forward so that his face was close to that of the corpse.

"I didn't murder your wife in cold blood, you _idiot_," she hissed, reaching out to lift up Laelette's cold lip, exposing vicious canine teeth. "Look at her teeth: she's a gods-damned vampire!"

Thonnir's angry expression turned to that of horror. "By Akatosh," he whispered in disbelief. "Laelette..."

Siona released him, and he stood, his expression dumbfounded. "I thought she'd gone off to join the resistance... At least, that's what Alva told me."

The Dragonborn raised an eyebrow. "Was Laelette close to Alva?"

"No. She hated her, much like every other woman with a husband in this town." Thonnir's mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile, probably remembering some sour remark that his wife had made, back when she was wholly human. He frowned again, and, looking agitated, continued. "But she had begun to hang around Alva more often. I didn't even know she had left until Alva came to me, and told me that she had gone to join the Stormcloaks."

Siona hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable as monstrous tears rolled down the Nord's face. "I am sorry for your loss, Thonnir." She patted him on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to your grief."

She rushed away, her thoughts making her mood even blacker. _Alva_. Damned whore was involved in everything. There was, in all possibility, a chance that Alva was a vampire then, or at least a thrall. The Redguard sighed. Looks like she'd have to check out Alva's house, then. Was the whore at home? Probably not. She was probably sharing a meal or at least a drink with that damned redhead. Siona pushed down the welling of anger and hurt at the thought of Erik and marched over to Alva's house.

She tested the doorknob surreptitiously as a guard walked by, who she waved cheerily to. Well, that door was certainly locked. She thrust a hand into her satchel, counting the lockpicks. Five of them. How was it that she could remember _lockpicks_ and not think to bring a damn dagger?

Siona crouched down, hiding in the shadows as best she could. At least the lock was easy. But she broke her first two lockpicks anyway, throwing each into the stagnant pond with a curse. Third time's the charm.

The door opened slowly, without a single light illuminating the house. Not a candle, not a lamp. Cautiously, Siona slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her. With a quick gesture, she conjured up a candlelight. For a moment, she wished she had a better grasp on the more destructive magics, but her form was pitiful. Best to leave her magicka to household charms and weak, though helpful, conjurations.

The Redguard stiffened in the dark room as the candlelight revealed the unmoving form of Hroggar on the ground. Siona groaned softly to herself, kneeling beside him.

"Hroggar, you daft old fool," she murmured. She moved his head slowly to reveal two bite marks on his neck. Well, obviously, he was vampire fodder for someone.

However, this could as well have been Laelette's work. Siona hurried forward, quickly rifling through the house, recreating the candlelight as it quickly burned out after a minute or two. Pausing at a chest of drawers, she picked up a small perfume bottle. Taking a delicate whiff, she suddenly felt a heady attraction for...the bottle.

Well, that was odd. She picked up the perfume and searched for a label. None. However, the little blue vial beside it was labelled. Siona stared at it. _Love Philter._ Well, clearly, Alva was getting a little help in her romantic endeavors. Hesitating, Siona pocketed the perfume. _Don't want that getting into the wrong hands, do we?_

She turned her head to spy a door. Maybe there. She flung the door open, marching inside.

At the sight of the coffin, Siona smirked. Alva was a vampire. She picked up the book inside the coffin, and, flipping through the pages, affirmed it. Siona suddenly found herself reading the contents vigorously, horrified at the contents. Alva had been turned by Movarth, presumably a master vampire, who planned on turning the entire town into a farm for feeding.

The Jarl would need to see this. Siona rushed upstairs, and a sudden thought overtook her, chilling her to her very bones. The little perfume bottle in her pocket suddenly weighed as much as a boulder.

Erik.

The guards jumped as the door to Alva's house slammed open, Siona running as fast as she could on her muscular legs down the dock.

"Hroggar's dead, Alva's a vampire, give this to Jarl," she barked, chucking the journal at one of the guards as she sprinted. The guard barely caught it, fumbling with the book. They all stared after her as she ran away.

Her skirts tangled and she let forth an oath, with the force of the thu'um. She scooped up her skirts and lifted them high above her knees, sprinting for her life. They would be at the inn. Wouldn't they? What if they weren't? What if she was too late, and Erik was turned? The color drained out of her face at that thought, and she pressed harder.

She skidded to a halt at the inn, bursting in.

"Are Alva and Erik here?" she managed to gasp out. The innkeeper shook her head wordlessly, and Siona rushed back out.

Where would they be? Where would they be? There was a sound and Siona's head turned to a dark shape pressed to the side of the inn. It was a couple. Kissing. Quite noisily.

At the sight of the red hair in the dim candlelight, Siona let out a yowl to rival a Khajit and grabbed Alva by the shoulder, turning her around to give her an uppercut and a left hook Farkas would have been proud of. Alva fell to the ground. Erik looked bewildered, his face covered in dark lipstick.

"Siona!" he shouted, but the Redguard whipped around to glare at him. He shrunk at her gaze.

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Erik," she snarled before whirling around to scowl at the figure on the ground. "Get up, vampire, and let's get this over with. I have bigger horkers to hunt."

Alva hissed, and her sharp canines were suddenly visible. The glazed, adoring look on Erik's face in Siona's peripheral nearly made her break her concentration on the vampire.

As Alva shot up, leaping at her, Siona brought her foot up, and, in perfect timing, drove her foot into the vampire's face. There was a crack as the Nord's nose broke, and Alva howled in pain. Siona ripped the spare dagger off of Erik's belt - okay, really, how did the enchanted _idiot_ remember a weapon, but she didn't? - and drew it across the woman's throat in a swift, fluid motion. There was a gurgling sound, and then nothing as the vampire's body fell still.

The Redguard turned back to Erik. He blinked hard a few times, the glazed look leaving his eyes. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the girl across from him. "Siona?"

Her fist connected with his left cheek, and then another against his right, leaving him even more dazed as the love philter left his system. The knee to the gut drove the air out of him, and the uppercut sent him up against the inn's wall. Blood trickled out of his nose, and he wheezed for air.

"Siona?" he hacked out.

Warmth suddenly enveloped him, and he found his shoulder damp as Siona pressed her face against him, sobbing and choking.

"You damn idiot," she cried. Erik slowly let his arms close around her, and he stroked her hair, unsure of what was going on.

"What happened?" he asked dazedly.

"You nearly died, you moron," she choked out, trying to put a cap on her emotions. "You were bewitched by Alva, and she was a vampire. She killed Hroggar."

Erik blinked, still stroking her hair. "Oh."

She clutched at his clothes, crying in a manner that was not in any way attractive, while he held her closely. Something stirred in him as he leaned his now swelling face against her forehead, the smell of her soap comforting and familiar to him. The way she cried against him made him clutch her closer.

"Don't you ever do that ever again," she murmured finally.

"I don't plan on it," he replied, pressing his lips to her forehead gently. They broke apart quickly at that, staring at each other.

Siona's cheeks turned even redder and Erik's ears became a bright scarlet, to match his hair. She opened her mouth to say something, but was quickly cut off.

"Lady Dragonborn," the guard said, his voice grave, "the Jarl requests your presence at once."

It looked like personal business would have to wait.

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**AN: Right, so Siona.**

**Too much jealousy and unnecessary violence? I felt like it was apt, but I may have over exaggerated for her character. It's my number one worry with this chapter. If you guys could tell me your thoughts, it would be really helpful.**

**Anyways, thanks as usual to all the reviewers and readers. I really appreciate it. :D**


	15. Chapter 14: Troubles

**AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You guys helped me clear my mind, and I think I've sort of sorted it all out. Sort of. (Let's be honest, for what I'm planning, I needed the angst to move on. There will certainly be more to come.) But anyways, updates will probably get more sporadic. I'm heading off to college on Saturday, and classes start on Monday, so I don't want anyone to freak if all of the sudden the updates keep dropping off.**

**Again, thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. You guys help me keep going, and I would have stopped writing this many chapters back if I didn't have the support. I've been having some rough times and changes with my personal life, and I wasn't sure I could keep going on this. So, thank you for keeping me accountable.**

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It was slightly humorous to see Jarl Idgrod sitting on her throne in her nightgown, skillfully embroidered with small brown bunnies. The look on her face, though, was far from amusing.

"So you have killed two people in the space of thirty minutes, Thane," she growled. Siona shuffled her feet. "And then, one of my guards comes running in with this...book, saying that I am supposed to receive it from you."

The Jarl folded her hands, scowling. "Well? Explain yourself."

Siona pushed a hand through her hair. Her insides felt jumbled, her anger and her fear and her hurt not yet dead, but surprise and relief was layered on top of it. Erik stood behind her. How her heart beat to see him, after all this.

Although frankly, she felt like shit.

"Jarl Idgrod, I'm afraid to tell you that you have a coven of vampires living near Morthal, with intent to enslave the town and turn them into nothing but food. Kept alive, but only so that the vampires may feed." Siona took a breath. "Both of the people killed tonight were vampires. Laelette was sent by Alva to burn down Hroggar's house, and Alva was to be used by the coven to seduce guards over to her side and into complacency."

"Why would Laelette burn Hroggar's house, though?" The Jarl leaned on the arm of her throne, her eyes bright and sharp through the wrinkles surrounding them.

"Hroggar was Alva's chosen protector of her coffin, which she was keeping in her cellar. She feared his family got in the way of his duties to her, and so sought to be rid of them through her bidding to Laelette."

Siona removed the perfume bottle from her pocket. "Alva has been ensnaring men through the use of a love philter, mixed in with her perfume. It's a powerful aphrodisiac, and took over Hroggar and my...associate." She could feel Erik's eyes boring into the back of her head. "Our next logical step would be to eradicate this coven before they can get to Morthal and put their plan in action."

Jarl Idgrod nodded, picking up the book. "This mentions Movarth, a master vampire I thought was destroyed a century ago. I'll have our most able-bodied warriors to accompany you to Movarth's lair. They'll be waiting outside for your word."

"Thank you, Jarl Idgrod." Siona gave her a small bow, and turned on her heel to walk out of the hall and back to the inn with the intent of changing into armor. Erik followed her closely.

"So now what?" he finally said.

"We go to Movarth's lair and we kill him," she replied, not slowing as she opened the door to the inn.

"That's not what I mean."

Siona stopped halfway to her room, turning. Her head was buzzing. "What do you mean, then?" she asked wearily.

He stepped closer to her. "First, you punch me out, and then you're crying in my arms. Do you hate me or what?" He crossed his arms over his doublet. "I can't wrap my mind around you. Who are you? Because you sure don't seem like that girl who came into my father's inn six months ago."

Siona's nostrils flared in anger. Some of it was aimed at herself, how she found herself wanting to stroke his red hair and apologize. There was still a good part of her that wanted to break his nose, and make him get on his knees and beg for forgiveness for being such a bastard under Alva's enchantment.

She didn't answer at first, turning instead to her door. "The girl you met six months ago wasn't the Dragonborn. Get changed into your armor, Erik."

The door shut behind her, and she leaned against it, shaking uncontrollably. What was wrong with her? Why did her stomach feel like a tangle of knots, and why couldn't she get her head straight? She closed her eyes, and Erik's face bloomed in the darkness of her mind. Siona shook her head, and the image was replaced with that of him kissing Alva by the inn. Rage grew within her, but she beat it down determinedly.

She struggled to get a hold on her feelings as she strapped on the plain steel plate armor. She should have brought the Dragonplate - vampires were not her favorite. But the steel would raise less stares, and be less distracting, though she missed the nooks and crannies that the Dragonplate armor boasted, where she could hide necessities such as food. With a moment of hesitation, she picked up two small vials of a disease curing potion. Better safe than sorry.

She opened the door and found herself looking at Erik. The candlelight reflected off of the iron breastplate, and he had pulled back his bright red hair with a leather strip. His forest green eyes watched her - was that anger she saw? Despair? But he turned and had shut the inn door behind him.

Siona took a deep breath and marched out after him. The crowd of men in front of Highmoon Hall waited patiently, silent as she approached. "Are we ready?" she asked gruffly.

They nodded and began walking, the torchlight illuminating the path and flickering through the trees as they walked. Siona was silent, her anger and pain and confusion screaming at her, louder than her heartbeat, louder than the footsteps of those that walked behind her, louder than any dragon's thu'um.

Consumed with her thoughts, it seemed like she had blinked and she was standing in front of Movarth's lair. She began to step inside, but someone behind her cleared their throat meaningfully. Turning, she arched an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked flatly.

One of the men in the group turned his head, looking uncomfortable. "We were all thinking...since you're the Dragonborn and all...shouldn't you be the one to get the glory? I mean, we're all confident that you can clear out that coven like that," he said brightly with a snap.

Siona's gaze turned hard. "Ah. So you're cowards." The entire group seemed to deflate further at that. "Well, it's fine with me if you don't come with. Go back home and go to sleep. Your wives will be happy you're alive, but your ancestors sure as hell will be disappointed in you."

She stormed into the cave as the men all looked at each other, slowly drifting back to Morthal. The cave swallowed her up, and she breathed in the dank, earthy smell. Focus on the task at hand: Movarth. Eradicate Movarth.

"How deep do you think this cave goes?"

Siona pivoted on her heel to look at Erik. "Why are you coming along?" she snapped. "I can do this on my own."

"But you're not going to," he replied staunchly. "We are friends, and I am not going to let you do this by yourself, and take the chance of you getting hurt."

She resisted the urge to shout; her voice came out as a quivering, enraged growl. "I don't want you around, Erik. I'm having..." She stopped, looking for the right word. "Trouble."

He looked bewildered. "What sort of trouble?"

"All sorts of trouble. Look," she barked, "you've confused me! What with that mess with Alva, and the way you treated me, and how you called me ugly, and you kissed me on the forehead and, and, and..."

"I called you ugly?" The sheer surprise in his voice left her mouth hanging open uselessly, her sentence having died away.

"You...don't you remember?" she said.

Erik sighed, scratching his neck. "Siona, I don't remember anything from when Alva walked us to the inn, and then when I saw her dead on the ground and you were beating the shit out of me."

Siona stared at him before lowering her head. "I told you not to hang around Alva ever," she said quietly, "and you told me that I was just jealous that she was so much more prettier than me."

Erik looked startled, coming closer to Siona. "That can't be right," he stated, lifting her chin with a callused thumb. "You're beautiful, Siona." He looked surprised at his own words, but continued on. "In comparison to you, Alva's nothing but a painted horker in a dress."

Siona stifled a laugh at the image that swelled in her mind.

"If I called you ugly, I apologize. I'm sure I didn't mean to do it intentionally. I would never want to hurt you," he said. "I'm sorry I was a shitty companion, and I'm sorry that I put myself in danger, and I'm sorry that I made you feel any worse than you already did. You're a fantastic person, and you shouldn't have made to feel so horribly by some idiotic backwoods adventurer wannabe such as myself."

She glanced down, her anger and hurt quieting within her. "Thanks, Erik," she said softly, and he smiled.

"I just want to put things right," he stated. "You're my best friend, after all."

Siona felt a little sick at that, but she nodded. "Yeah." She took a deep breath and turned back to the path. "Alright, let's get this over with. I think I'm done with Morthal."

"You and me both," Erik groused, and they shared timid smiles.

. . .

They didn't speak as they moved through the cave, cutting down whatever it was in their path until, finally, they found themselves on a ledge overlooking a large banquet table. The smell of blood and rot and earth was a nauseating combination, and Siona looked a little green.

"Is that Movarth?" Erik asked, hushed. Siona nodded, and he slowly strung his bow, careful not to make any noise.

"I'll see if I can get him from here," he whispered, raising Brightarc to eye level.

Erik focused on the Nordic vampire, aiming for the space between his eyes. The scene seemed to slow down for him, and he counted between his heartbeats.

Movarth looked up, and the arrow whistled through the air, landing shaft deep in the wood where the vampire's head had just been. Movarth laughed, standing beside his throne.

"Did you truly think that I would be so easily killed?" the vampire mocked. Erik bristled beside Siona.

"I don't think he sees us," Siona murmured. "But he knows what direction we're in."

"Should we move?"

"No. Both of us are absolutely terrible at sneaking. It would only give us away further."

"Well, he still needs to die." Erik took a deep breath through his nose, watching the vampire as his eyes flicked across the ledge. "It would be better if he knew who killed him. I am not so cowardly as to hide from him." He gave Siona a penetrating glance. "Stay. Here. Don't you dare leap in."

"What are you doing?" Siona hissed, but he had already stood up and was descending down to the banquet.

The vampires watched him; one ran a tongue over her sharp teeth, sizing up the redheaded Nord. Erik ignored her, choosing instead to stand before them, hand on the sword Siona had given him.

"Movarth." His voice was chillingly grave.

The Nord vampire smiled toothily. "And to whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"I am Erik the Slayer, of Rorikstead."

"And I am Siona, Dovahkiin, of Stros M'Kai."

Erik turned his head to glare at Siona at his shoulder, irritation sparking his features. "I told you to stay where you were."

"Did you really think for a moment that I was going to let you have all the fun?" Siona snapped, crossing her arms. "Besides, your father would kill me if you died."

Erik let out an angry huff of breath, and Movarth laughed.

"Well, I suppose I will be gracious enough to allow the two of you to die together. Then again, perhaps not the Lady Dragonborn, though." His smile was vicious. "Tell me - does the soul of a dragon mean you have the blood of one, too? I have not yet tasted dragon's blood."

There was a snicker from the other vampires. Erik moved a bit closer to Siona, shielding her with his body. She gave him a look of irritation.

"You won't touch her," he growled.

Movarth crossed his arms with a smile. "Ah. Young love. It's written all over your face, you know." Erik's ears went scarlet. "The jealousy, the hurt, the protectiveness." Movarth tsked. "If I weren't hungry, I'd almost let the two of you go. Let you live out the rest of your lives together. But my thirst is not slaked by the few deer we've caught these past few days, and it seemed like your blood will be fit for the kill."

Erik raised his sword. "Not if I can help it, vampire."

Movarth waved a hand. "I'm not bored enough to deal with you myself. Tobias, Igna, Sarnir! Take care of them." He sat back down at the banquet table, absently shuffling spilled septims on the plate in front of him.

The three vampires hissed and threw themselves at the two twenty-somethings. Erik let out a roar and dashed into the fray, malachite clashing against steel.

. . .

Jarl Idgrod waited impatiently, fingernails scraping against the arm of her throne. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon - the 'able-bodied men' had returned hours earlier, looking pale and ashamed. It seemed that the Dragonborn had entered Movarth's lair with her associate, that redheaded man who was taken in by Alva.

Idgrod's patience was wearing thin. She was tempted to march over to the vampire's lair herself, but Divines knew her husband would pitch a fit. Wearily, she snapped for a tankard of coffee. She had to be awake to receive the Dragonborn.

The door banged open and a guard stood in the doorway, holding a sack in one hand. She hurried to the throne, bowing deeply to Idgrod.

"Jarl Idgrod, I have a message from the Dragonborn."

Highly irritating. The Redguard had the audacity to keep the Jarl waiting, and not even show up in person? Idgrod waved her hand, beckoning the guard to go on.

"The Dragonborn states that she has cleared the coven's den and that Movarth is dead." Well, at least that was good news. "She also says that she doesn't want payment." Ah, doubly good news. That would apply some more money towards re-thatching the Hall's roof. "She is heading with her associate east, and she does not wish to return anytime soon. If the Jarl would be so kind as to not write to her about problems in Morthal's hold anymore, the Dragonborn would be grateful."

"I see," Idgrod said after a moment. Her eyes landed on the sack again. "What's that you're carrying...?"

"Ah. Yes." The guard reached into the sack, and when she pulled out the contents, Idgrod recoiled imperceptibly.

Movarth's mouth lolled open as his head was held by his ratty blonde hair. The cut through his neck had been a clean swipe, leaving little to no chunks of flesh to awkwardly hang, although blood dripped onto the floor.

"The Dragonborn wished to show you proof. She states that her associate was the one to dispose of him."

Idgrod was silent, tapping her fingers together as she thought. A curious smile crept across her white face, and she began to chuckle.

"Well, I suppose they'll be good for each other." She waved her hand again as she stood, dismissing the guard, who walked out of the Hall quickly.

Stifling a yawn, Idgrod headed back to bed. All was quiet in Morthal once again. Hopefully.


	16. Chapter 15: Stormcloaks

**AN: Sorry this didn't update as often as I normally do. This is the longest chapter to date, and I just moved into my dorm, so I was a little busy. Anyways, enjoy!**

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Frostfall had come around faster than Siona had imagined. After leaving Morthal in Midyear, she and Erik had proceeded to stay out of the big towns unless they needed to pick up what they couldn't gather or hunt out in the wild. They had picked up and let go of several other companions, from a few, random hunters to a funny Khajiit, Kharjo, that had been separated from his caravan.

On the first of Frostfall, Siona awakened with a stiffness in her joints and groaned as she stretched in her tent. The steady snoring of Erik let her know that yes, he was still asleep, and no, he would not like to be woken up, thank you.

She shifted to gaze out of the side of her tent. Frostfall was an apt name for the month; already, here at the top of Whiterun Hold, she could see the shimmering glitter of ice coating the grass. Soon, she would have to start keeping the furs they sold from their hunts instead of selling them.

As she lifted herself into a sitting position, she could feel her hair hanging right above her shoulders. She would need to get that cut soon. She moved to get out of her tent, banging her leg against one of the tent poles in the process. She winced, the bruise on her leg throbbing. Yesterday they had entered into Shimmermist Cave, notorious for its high Falmer population. What they hadn't been expecting was the Centurion in the grotto. Apparently, the cave had held some Dwemer ruins deep within.

Erik was becoming very good at fighting. While Siona bungled the operation by stepping into almost every trap available, he had successfully cut down more than half of the Falmer, and was the one to take the Centurion head on when she had gotten distracted and bruised by a stray trap.

She sighed at the memory. How had she gotten so careless? Certainly, good for Erik for improving so well, but still... She shook her head, and drew up her knees, leaning her head on them. Her skills had become rusty, cavorting about with Erik and trying to show him things. But then again, she had always loosened up a bit when she was travelling with someone. If she were making this trip alone, she would have been out running right now...

Erik's light snoring made up her mind. _I'll just go out for a quick jog, and I'll leave a note_.

She rifled through their bags and belongings, searching for paper, but finally, she gave up. No paper. Her eyes fell upon Erik's journal, and she hesitated. He wouldn't mind too much, would he, if she just tore out a sheet from the back?

Her fingers brushed the leather, cool and damp from sitting on the ground. She opened it, intending to go straight to the back, but - wouldn't you know it? - her eyes fell upon the writing.

_4E 205, 31st of Second Seed_

_Swamp water_

_Murky as my thoughts_

_Seeping into the cracks and corners of my mind_

_Congealing_

Siona blinked. Poetry. He wrote poetry. That's what he had been doing all this time? Clearly, it wasn't very good poetry, but nonetheless. She paused, flipping back several pages. Ah. _4E 205, 15th of Rain's Hand_. That was when they had arrived in Markarth.

_Firelight over ancient stone_

_Illuminating the burnished gold_

_Said to be one of the most beautiful sights_

_But I would rather_

_Watch her read_

_Hands brushing the curve of her jaw_

_And light flickering in her eyes_

_Hardened hero_

_Gentle friend_

She continued flipping the pages, a light heat touching her cheeks. And here's the night of the banquet.

_4E 205, 30th of Rain's Hand_

_Blue and gold_

_Like royalty_

_Beautiful in femininity_

_But beautiful also in the swipe of her sword_

_The intricate dance of warfare_

_The jasmine soap bewitches me_

_The shy smile ensnares me_

_And the wholesome, genuine soul_

_Has me bound to you_

_I am yours_

She shut the book at that, mind reeling. What was that? Was that...? It wasn't...was it?

"Siona?"

She whirled around, book still in her hand. Erik was standing by his tent in only his trousers, watching her. She brought her eyes up from his newly scarred and more toned chest, trying to ignore it. Finally, his gaze flicked to the leather journal in her hand, and his face went dark and red simultaneously. Marching forward, he took it from her grasp.

"Did you read this?" he asked, his voice low. He was very close to her, and she felt a fire burn across her face. The tone and sheer quiet of his voice scared Siona more than if he had been yelling. If he was yelling, at least she could get angry. Here, she was trapped.

Slowly, she opened her mouth. "N-not all of it," she stuttered. "Just like two...or three..."

His face seemed to close itself off to her, the eyes turning hard as stone. "I see."

Erik placed the book in his bag, careful not to bend the pages. He began to break down his tent in silence, not looking at Siona as she went to do the same.

_You utter moron_, she thought angrily to herself. _Why would you stick your nose into his things?_ She folded up the cloth for the tent, brooding.

Finally, they were all packed up, their knapsacks flung across their shoulders. As they began to walk, Erik spoke up.

"So what's our next destination?"

Siona resisted the urge to nervously scratch her arm. "Windhelm, hopefully. It's one of the oldest cities, supposedly, but rather cold. And now that's we're in the midst of fall, even colder." She hoped she wouldn't have to tiptoe around him for the rest of the trip there. "I usually visit in the summer, because it's a bit milder then."

"Okay."

The word cut off the conversation, and Siona was left deflated, hating herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

They walked through the forests, and it slowly turned into a white landscape, dotted with grey trees and snowberry bushes. The sky overhead was cloudy, and boringly grey, and every once in a while, flurries would dust her shoulders and dark hair. Siona acknowledged them wryly. Funny, how specks of ice were warmer than her frigid companion.

They trudged for hours through snow drifts and through the scrub - only the short, fast growing plants were able to grow in the Eastmarch's short growing season.

Erik suddenly stopped, stooping to pluck something from a bush. Siona paused beside him, curious. Finally, he stood back up, extending a small bouquet of Dragon's Tongue flowers to her. She took it hesitantly, watching his expression closely.

"I'm not angry," he said simply before trotting off. Siona gaped as him as he continued on, turning back to look at her. "Well? Are you coming? I don't exactly know the way to Windhelm. And I could lose myself in a snowdrift." He chuckled at that.

Siona hurried after him, the small smile on her face growing. Hesitating, she touched his arm as he turned to continue walking. "I'm sorry."

His half-smile was charming. "Ah, don't worry about it. It was foolish of me to assume you wouldn't read any of it when it was just lying about."

After a small moment of silence, Siona averted her eyes from his face, reddening slightly. Erik cleared his throat.

"How far are we from Windhelm?"

"Only a couple of hours," Siona replied, grasping at the new conversation with enthusiasm. "It's a fascinating city, really, were it not so political."

"Well, its jarl is the leader of the Stormcloaks. Do you really think that the city could be anything if not political?"

Siona paused, irritated by his know-it-all attitude. "No. I know that. It just gets irritating. People with a differing opinion are always looked down upon."

"That's how it always is, though. If people disagree with you, you see them as inferior."

Siona nodded and they continued forward in silence. What was up with him? Something had changed - she could see it, in the way he carried himself and how he spoke. It had happened in the last few days as they approached Windhelm. He had seemed to come to a decision about something... Something he wasn't telling Siona.

She sighed and continued walking through the drifts, kicking snow haphazardly into the air.

Some of it splattered on Erik, and he spluttered. "Hey!"

"What?"

"Watch where you're kicking that snow. Some of it just hit me in the face."

"You mean like this?"

A lightly packed snowball hit his jaw, crumbling as it made contact. Erik gave Siona an irritated look.

"That's not funny."

"I find it funny." Another snowball slapped itself against his thick wool shirt, sticking to the fabric. Siona grinned wickedly as Erik growled, stooping to scoop up a handful of snow, packing it into an oddly shaped ball. He chucked it at the Redguard, who ducked.

"You're going to have to do a whole lot better than that!" she called. The next one hit her squarely on the forehead and she laughed, the crumbling snow dusting her eyebrows and lashes.

They launched the snow at each other for another good ten minutes, a wild smile growing on Erik's face. Siona's delighted laughter rang throughout the trees, their shouts bouncing through the sparse forest.

When they were tired, and slightly damp, with snow trapped in places better not spoken of, they laid side by side in the snow, their coats soaking up the wet.

"You've grown," Siona said after a moment. Erik propped himself up on one arm, looking at her.

"In what way?"

Siona's hands played with a particularly long lock of hair absently. "Well, you know. You're not the naive farmer I met in Rorikstead all those months ago. You've become a better fighter, and a smarter adventurer since then." She gave a low chuckle. "I would congratulate myself, but I know it wasn't just me."

Erik smiled. "Well, you're not so bad yourself. I've liked getting to know you." They were silent for a moment. Siona reached out and touched one of his red braids.

"All this time, and I still think you have the most astonishing hair..." She turned her head a little bit, lifting the braid with a finger. "Red like a setting sun."

He bent over her and pressed his mouth to hers. She stiffened in surprise, but gradually relaxed, closing her eyes. It was rough, what with his unshaven face, but warm and inviting. One hand on her waist pulled her closer to him, and she found herself drawn by his body heat. It was an odd sensation; the cold at her back and the warmth at her front. She placed her hand on his neck as his mouth left hers, travelling down to her neck with slow, deliberate kisses, and back up to her cheek, and again to her mouth with a kiss that took her breath away.

She watched him dizzily as he leaned back up, running his hand along her waist.

"What was that?" she asked coyly.

"I'm leaving when we get to Windhelm," he said.

The warmth was gone. Siona sat straight up.

"You're what?"

He leaned back further. "I'm joining the Stormcloaks when we get to Windhelm. I know you don't agree with or take sides in the civil war, but I'm a son of Skyrim. I've got to fight for what I believe in."

Her mouth opened and closed, and for a moment, she stared at him blankly. Then, she scrambled into a standing position, dusted herself off, and, picking up her bag, began to stalk towards Windhelm. Erik hurried after her.

"Hey! Wait!"

He caught up with her, and she whirled around. The expression on her face was tormented.

"What made you think it was a good idea to kiss me like, like..._that_ and then tell me you were leaving?" she shouted. The forest shook with the force of her thu'um, dislodging a few birds from the trees.

"Well, clearly, I made a mistake," he offered humbly. "I shouldn't have kissed you at all." Her face grew enraged.

"I have been attracted to you for months, and you do this to me?"

Surprise flashed across his face at her words before it was replaced with a growing intensity. "It's not always about you!" he snapped. "How do you think I feel about it? I don't _want_ to leave you, but I have to do this."

"You don't _have_ to do anything! This civil war is a poison!"

"Do you really think that I don't know that? All the times we've seen, together, the horrors of the civil war, and you think I don't know that? But if I know one thing, it's that I'm not going to lower my head and listen to some nobleman - who doesn't even live here! - tell me I can and can't worship!"

"And so you'll side with the people who threw this land into chaos to begin with?" Siona scoffed at him. "The Aldmeri Dominion will come, and even if you do manage to win against them, they'll almost completely destroy Skyrim."

"And how would you know?"

"Because that's what happened in Hammerfell!"

They fell silent, and the shaking stopped. Siona turned and marched to the top of the hill, pointing into the distance.

"There. That is Windhelm. Home of your great leader." She drew her coat tighter around herself, as though it was shielding something from her. "Goodbye."

He hesitated and stepped forward to embrace her, but she stepped away, looking distressed.

"Don't. Just...don't."

Erik paused, and nodded heavily. He began to trudge over the hill, past Siona. She watched him walk away.

"And please don't die." The words seemed snatched out of her throat, quick and thrown at him. He half turned, shifting his pack over his shoulder.

"I'm not planning on visiting Sovngarde any time soon." A sorry half-smile quirked across his mouth - that same mouth that had been, only moment before, on hers - and he continued walking.

Siona turned away, shivering uncontrollably.

. . .

Argis stirred the stew absently, humming a small ditty he had heard in the Silver-Blood Inn that morning. Markarth was quiet, for once, but he chalked that up to everyone being at home by their fires. It was, after all, Sun's Dusk, and for those in Markarth used to the mild summers, it was freezing.

The smell of vegetables and beef made his stomach growl. He placed the lid on the pot and sat back, hands laced across his middle. As housecarl, what is there to do when your thane isn't there? Reading wasn't exactly his favorite activity. His mind drifted back to the days of his youth, bandit hunting and exploring with the best of them. And the women! His mouth curled into a content, nostalgic smile.

The door opened with a bang, and he jumped a foot in the air. Standing, he began to draw his weapon and look as menacingly as possible.

"I don't know you're innocent or a thief," he growled, "but you're trespassing, and I'm not afraid to rip your head off."

His angry look melted as Siona walked inside. She looked...different. Defeated. Her hands hung listlessly by her sides, and her eyes were flat.

"Don't even think of trying that," she said quietly.

The housecarl and the Dragonborn stared at each other for a moment.

"Why...why are you here?" Argis asked. "And where's Erik?"

Her face crumpled at the mention of the redhead. "Don't..." she choked out. "Don't talk about him."

Anger sparked on Argis's face. "That bastard. What did he do? Did he hurt you? Are you still a..."

"_BY THE NINE, ARGIS_," she roared through tears. The house shook violently, dust and a few stones falling from the ceiling. Argis gathered up Siona, who had fallen to the ground on her knees, weeping openly. He sat back down on his chair, holding her like a father does a child. They sat like that for a few moments, the housecarl stroking her hair as her crying dried up.

"Now. What happened?" he finally asked. Siona wiped a hand across her face, pressed against his iron-covered shoulder.

"We were out by Windhelm," she said slowly, "and he kissed me. And then, after he stopped kissing me, he told me he was joining the Stormcloaks."

"So he kissed you," Argis said slowly, "and then he left you?"

Siona nodded.

"I _will_ kill him."

"Argis, no. Just...stop. It doesn't even matter, anymore. I suppose he was bad for me, anyways..."

She freed herself and stood up, walking to her bedroom. "I'm just going to bed. I don't feel like thinking about it."

The housecarl nodded, and the door closed behind her.

. . .

The midpoint of Evening Star was approaching quickly, on the wings of bitter winds and icy mornings. Little Adara had nearly broken her neck slipping on the stairs just that morning, but instead simply sprained her ankle amongst great, welling tears.

Siona leaned against the balcony, her book forgotten on the ledge. She was glad of the heavy wool of Skyrim, and how warm it was. For a moment, she longed for the Alik'r sands, the warmth beating down on her face, instead of this cold-hearted, Aedra forsaken land.

She was healing, mentally and physically, from resurfacing old scars from years ago, under the supervision of Bothela and Argis. The housecarl hid away the wine and the mead for the first few weeks, well aware of the Dragonborn's penchant for alcohol when she was emotionally hurt. He had slowly allowed her to have a drink at dinner, a drink before bed, and so on. The alchemist, on the other hand, was kind enough to bring a calming tea over whenever she could, and berated Argis for letting her tramp across the Druadach mountains close to every day, armed with no less than her dagger and her Voice.

Argis, understandably, allowed her to do so; Siona was relieved to get her mind off of Erik as she surveyed the Reach, checking in on various settlements and houses, fixing problems, collecting alchemical resources, and exploring the nooks and crannies of the mountains. She had only fallen from a ridge twice, but the worst had only resulted in bruised and scraped legs.

Now she took a day to lounge about the city, watching people walk to and fro underneath the stone parapets and golden ledges, with those strange Dwemer designs. She had her book, she had a bottle of chilled snowberry wine, and she was, for once in the past few months, content. Her mind was filled with plans for the building of a new smithy in Karthwasten, one with a state of the art anvil and bellows... She almost didn't hear the commotion below.

The screaming reached her ears, and her head swiveled to the source. A Stormcloak soldier threw aside a woman - Siona recognized her as Kerah. The blue cuirasses of the rebels swarmed inside the city, amidst shouting and screaming. How bold had they become, to attack the city itself?

Siona dropped everything and hurried up the stairs, raising her skirts high above her knees. Argis was already standing inside the doorway of Vlindrel Hall, alerted by the sounds of chaos.

"Grab my sword," she ordered. The Daedric monstrosity was tossed at her, and she caught it deftly, racing down to meet the Stormcloaks.

They dared to invade Markarth? Her beloved city? She would make sure they went back to that milkdrinker Ulfric, tail between their legs and empty handed.

She slashed at the closest one, felling him in one swoop. Onward she went, cutting through the Stormcloaks, a fear tugging at the back of her mind, but she banished it, refusing to think of the redhead Nord...

A fist slammed into her face, and she stumbled in the midst of it all. The soldier's sneer was enough to set her teeth on edge. But she knew that smile.

"Galmar Stone-Fist," she said hoarsely.

"Lady Dragonborn," he greeted mockingly. "And what brings you to fair Markarth on this day?"

"Get the hell out of my city, Nord bastard." She slashed the sword upward, but he blocked the blow with his shield, knocking it away. It spun, landing in a corner.

Galmar bashed her in the chest with his shield, sending her on her rear and bruising her. He continued to push her down as she tried to get up, a mocking laugh dripping from his lips.

"Jarl Ulfric is growing tired of your constant dismissal," he said with a sneer. "I'm sure you are nothing but one of those Empire dogs."

"Skyrim is not my battleground," Siona growled, finally rolling out of the way of his shield and standing. He laughed at that.

"And yet you fought the World-Eater on the Throat of the World. You own houses in five of our cities. You have sported both the armor of the Stormcloak and the Imperial."

"Skyrim is my home! I will not destroy it, and thus I will not participate in watering its ground with the blood of her people."

The two of them faced each other, Siona at the ready to dodge, while Galmar shifted his shield and sword. The sacking of Markarth bustled around them, Stormcloak soldiers eagerly entering stores and running off with their goods. A flash of red hair made her lose focus, and Galmor took his chance.

He readied and charged at her, stabbing forward at her. Siona, defenseless, flinched, her eyes screwing shut as the sword drove towards her stomach.

The blow never came, though.

She opened her eyes and stared in horror at the sword, dug deep through the stomach of Argis. The housecarl had dove into the path of the blade, taking it through the middle. Galmar tried to wrench it out, but Argis wrapped his hands around the cross-section and wouldn't let go. He fell over, struggling to keep his weakening grip on the blade.

Galmar didn't get the chance to remove the blade; Siona stood, and, taking a deep breath, Shouted.

"_KRII LUN AUS_!"

His armor cracked and broke, the fur dissolving into small piles of brown; it was rendered useless. Where his skin was visible, tiny slashes like razor marks appeared. A cloud of purple enveloped him, but only to Siona's sight. Marked for Death.

She pulled Argis's mace out of his belt and slammed it into the side of Galmar's head and then into his chest and his legs, breaking them. The dovah bloodlust roared in approval at the sight of slick blood. The Stormcloak general staggered and fell, dark red liquid pooling beneath his head.

Argis's breathing was shallow as Siona knelt beside him. "Argis! Argis, stay with me," she pleaded. She pulled the sword out and he screamed in animalistic pain. Placing her hands over the wound, she let the golden glow seep into him.

"It's not going to work," he rasped out.

"You're not dying, you old bastard," she said through gritted teeth, trying not to cry as she fed more of the golden energy into him.

"Give it up, Dragonborn," he whispered. "You can't win every fight..." His face was pale, and the bleeding wouldn't stop.

"You can't do this to me, Argis," she pressed, the tears brimming over her eyes.

"...and it's time to grow up, Siona." He took a deep breath of air and his heart stopped beating.

"No!" she cried, beating at his breastplate. "You big idiot!" She wept openly, to the bewildered stares of the Stormcloaks and bystanders. The Dragonborn had been broken.

Markarth had fallen.

. . .

General Tullius looked up from his map, squinting beneath his finely combed white hair.

"So why have you decided to join the fight now, of all times?" he asked, watching the Redguard in the strange bone armor.

Siona stared right back at him. "It is none of your concern," she said coldly, her eyes like ice wraiths. "You should be flattered that I even took your side." She picked up a red Imperial flag from Tullius's map, the one that signified Markarth, and flicked it into the fire, her face hard.

Tullius sighed, and bent over his map again. "The Stormcloaks are a more formidable opponent than I thought. Legate Rikke agrees with me. We have had many rebellions throughout Tamriel, but none have been as well equipped and commanded as this. Many of the Stormcloak officers are not only veterans of the Great War, but are of the best the Imperial Legion had to offer."

Legate Rikke watched Siona through hooded eyes, but there was a mutual respect there that was unshakable. Right now, though, the Dragonborn was all business.

"I offer my sword to the Imperial Legion in defense of Skyrim," Siona said hollowly.

"Then offer your oath, as well," Tullius stated. "Legate, read her the oath."

"Repeat after me, Lady Dragonborn: Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor, Titus Mede II, and unwavering obedience to the officers of his great Empire. May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty.

"Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!..."


	17. Chapter 16: The Battle for Solitude

**AN: Sorry if this chapter isn't up to snuff. I need this to keep moving before I hit the really heavy college stuff and get super sidetracked and never pick it up again.**

**Anyways, a lot of time is cut out (as you'll be able to tell) and it's a bit of a shorter chapter, as you'll soon see.**

* * *

Sun's Dusk of 4E 207 was a bitter one in Solitude. The snow bit at the noses of the Imperial soldiers, lined up across the parapets and balconies of the walled cities. In the distance, across the lake, the smoke of the Stormcloak encampment drifted into the air, making the sunrise hazy to those watching.

Soldiers watched as the Dragonborn, resplendent in her legate armor, walked alongside Tullius and Legate Rikke, helmet under her arm. Her face was as cold as her steel, and just as hard. Many soldiers feared actually having to talk to her; it was a disconcerting experience, how she easily she could silence someone and then belittle them with no more than a sentence.

To Siona, joining the Imperials had greatly improved her. Her battle prowess had returned, and the fight kept her mind off of, well, everything. Where she had started with revenge, ended with the best therapy of all.

Of course, she was more of a symbol to the people of Skyrim, that their great hero had ultimately agreed with the Empire. And sure, it swayed some people, but others scoffed and blamed her Redguard heritage for her opinions.

After Argis had died, she had barely managed to escape Markarth with her armor and weapon. The city was taken over the course of the night, Jarl Igmund publicly executed via beheading, his head cast on a pike and placed at the highest point in Markarth. Galmar had been carried back in a processional, filled with silent grief and mourning. The bastard had been martyred by Ulfric's honeyed words and talk of grand ideals.

Siona had walked to Solitude, her heart hard and her eyes fixed forward. Tullius had been wise to accept her into the Legion, and did so almost unquestioningly. She hadn't been sent out unless it was on minor skirmishes - he didn't want to risk a symbol such as her dying in any battle.

The Stormcloaks had pushed their way across Skyrim, more quickly than the Imperial Legion realized. They had clearly underestimated the "backwood rebels"; after the fall of Fort Kastav, many soldiers feared the worst.

Siona didn't care one way or another: she was training again, doing as a hero should. It was a pity that it took entering the war just to get back to normal, but she didn't mind. Her long hair had been sheared ages ago, and now she kept it at a close crop, padding her helmet with small lengths of cotton. Dresses had been exchanged for breeches and leather boots, and jewelry had been pawned for the purchase of necessities.

While the men were afraid to speak to her in an officer-soldier setting, they lined up to train with her. She was an expert in not only hand to hand combat, but in one-handed weapons as well. Her criticism was always honest, never complicated, and, as a result, she was highly sought after.

She surveyed the soldiers lining Solitude, her mouth set in a thin, compressed line. The Stormcloaks would probably overrun Solitude. With their sheer size - a number which had positively exploded over the last year - the Imperials didn't stand a chance. Ulfric's tactics completely ignored the Imperials' vision of war. While Tullius commanded a war that would meet on the battlefield, in straight lines and like the ancient stories of old, the Stormcloaks were more than happy to ambush caravans and use the thick fauna of Skyrim to their advantage. Their guerilla tactics prevailed in such wilderness.

"Siona!"

She snapped her gaze back to Tullius, her face contorting into a mask of attentiveness. "Yes, General?"

"I asked if you would lead the foot soldiers on the battlefield."

Siona fiddled with her helmet. "Sir, with all due respect, how many soldiers are you moving onto the marsh?"

"As many as we need, Legate. We must defend Solitude, for if it falls, the Empire loses Skyrim."

Siona was slowly becoming more uncomfortable. "But if we delegate too many soldiers to the field, the Stormcloaks will sneak through. I keep trying to tell you, General, their tactics are not so forward."

"It will be alright, Legate," Tullius said coolly. "I have it under control. Now, go attend to your soldiers."

The Redguard felt a little sick, but nodded. "Yes, General."

She turned to the soldiers and sized them up. Too many of these soldiers were going on the marsh. Irritated, she scuffed her boot against the ground. The Stormcloaks would most likely use the distraction of the battle in front of Solitude to storm the walled city from some back entrance. If only Tullius would let go of his grandiose beliefs, that the Stormcloaks would fight the battle of honor! Perhaps Solitude would have a fighting chance. But there was no moving the Imperial man.

She sighed and marched forward, her face set in stone.

. . .

It was worse than she had anticipated.

The Stormcloaks had the audacity (and sheer fearlessness) to scale the cliff that the Blue Palace resided on, swinging themselves into Jarl Elisif's room with the help of grappling hooks. She was currently sitting two people down from Siona, bound like the rest of them. Only the Dragonborn had a ragged cloth stuffed in her mouth, preventing her from Shouting.

Siona was right: the Stormcloaks fought dirty. As much as the Nords despised magic, they had hired a mage to enchant the entire marsh. Siona found her soldiers blown apart left and right to her horror. Twice, she had nearly stepped into the runes herself, but had been cut off by another explosion of fire set off by a panicked soldier. For those who had tried to swim across the lake in retreat, they were beset by slaughterfish. The Stormcloaks had brought the monstrous fish with them in great barrels, feeding them raw meat and dumping them into the water when they arrived. The lake was infested.

At the memory, self-loathing tore at her. She should have called a formal retreat in the boats! She should have forced them off the battlefield, to protect Solitude. But she had been clueless and blinded by the smoke coming off of charred bodies, and the smell of blood in the water. Only a third of them had even managed to survive, and they had all been taken hostage by the large rebel force. The lake still bloomed red.

The Stormcloaks had dragged her off the battlefield, weakly kicking and screaming, voice coarsened by the thick smoke. She had been bound and forced to sit in a circle with Tullius, Legate Rikke, and Elisif, and now they waited for Ulfric.

Siona had heard his roaring voice earlier, outside the doors of Castle Dour, as he proclaimed victory. There had been raucous cheering from his soldiers, and then, silence. The doors opened. Ulfric, with his new general, strode through.

Siona stared at her feet, anger bringing hot tears into her eyes. It was humiliating. She had assumed that the Stormcloaks would win, yes, but this? Being gagged and forced to wait for some pompous jackass of a Nord to decide her destiny? This was just low.

Ulfric's presence positively filled the room. "So. Exalted leaders of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim. Welcome."

"Get to the point, Ulfric," Legate Rikke growled. "Don't feed us this gracious winner shit."

For a moment, Siona felt a twinge of unhappiness. Legate Rikke really did believe in the Imperial's cause. For what was not the first time since she joined the Legion, guilt rose up in her throat. She kept her head turned away from Ulfric.

"Alright, Rikke," Ulfric growled, his voice pulsing with the thu'um. "You are free to go, if you want. We are only truly here for Tullius and...the Dragonborn." The way he said those last two words made Siona recoil in disgust.

The Redguard could almost hear Legate Rikke's teeth grind. "I am also free to stay here with my General."

"Death only awaits you if you stay," a huskier voice stated. Siona felt a chill go up her spine. That must be Ulfric's new general. Bone-Breaker, also known as Eagle-Eye. She kept her eyes trained on the wall, biting down on the dirty cloth.

"Is this what you wanted? Shield brothers and sisters killing each other?" Rikke's voice was scalding. "Families torn apart." Her voice took on a hysterical edge. "This is the Skyrim you want?"

"Dammit, woman, be quiet!" Bone-Breaker's voice was harsh, and cutting. But there was a hint of weariness to it, as well.

The Legate fixed her eyes on Ulfric, a fire burning within them. "That's not the Skyrim I want to live in."

Ulfric growled. "Then you won't have to live in it. I am sentencing the three of you to the executioner's block."

"The three of us?" This was the first time that Tullius had spoken.

"Aye. I am sparing the fair Jarl Elisif. Perhaps one day she would take me to wed." The disgust on her face would suggest otherwise. Ulfric smirked and turned his focus towards the Dragonborn, who was still staring at the wall.

"And is this the Lady Dragonborn? Ah. Skyrim's great hero... The savior of humankind." Ulfric's laugh was a rumble. "You would not be in this position if you had joined us, as you rightfully should have." He made a motion to a foot soldier beside him to remove her gag.

"I would not have even joined if Galmar had not killed my housecarl and my best friend." Bone-Breaker stiffened at that. Siona, puzzled at his reaction, looked up at the General. Her eyes went wide.

Beneath that bear fur helmet, red hair like Skyrim sunsets peeked out in slivers on his face, pulled back in a neat ponytail. His eyes, green as the forests of Stros M'Kai, sent her heart thudding wildly in her chest. He had gotten brawnier as time had gone on; he filled out his officer's uniform well. Siona could see, though, weary bags under his eyes and wrinkles where he had furrowed his brow.

"Erik."

"Siona." He gave her a nod, but she could see he was shaken. Of course he had known who she was, but she hadn't even thought for a second that Bone-Breaker would be her companion from all those years ago. She quickly looked away, a fire burning her reddened cheeks.

"So you two know one another," Ulfric said, glancing at his general.

"Aye. She was my first teacher a couple of years ago," Erik replied, not removing his gaze from the girl, bound on the floor.

"Gag her again," Ulfric ordered to a foot soldier. Siona nearly threw up as the dirty cloth was shoved unceremoniously down her throat again. "You should have told me, Bone-Breaker."

"It didn't seem necessary, Jarl Ulfric."

"Really? Your fraternization with a hero of the enemy in close quarters didn't seem important enough to tell me?" Ulfric's expression flashed with irritation, but it was gone in a wink. "Ah, it doesn't even matter. Skyrim is rid of the Empire now."

He motioned to a blonde Stormcloak. "Throw them in jail. We'll have a public execution tomorrow."

The Stormcloak nodded, hoisting up Siona by one arm, but not too roughly. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Siona swiveled her head.

"Ralof," she said, stunned. Except the rag kept anything difficult to say, so it came out as a gagging. The blonde Nord sorrowfully led her away, into the depths of Castle Dour. Erik watched, horror flickering in those green eyes, as the door to the dungeons shut behind them.

. . .

The chains digging into her hands made it impossible to sleep. Siona hung from the wall, suspended by the manacles and feeling sorry for herself. She was going to die, come morning.

The dirty gag in her mouth hadn't been removed, and they hadn't brought them food. Her jaw ached from being forced open with the rag, and her stomach bit at her painfully in demand of food.

Death.

She had only been in close quarters with it once before, when faced with the executioner's axe in Helgen. All those years ago, yet she could almost taste the fear still, standing side by side with those Stormcloaks, wondering which breath would be her last.

Every once in a while, she would manage to conjure a weak candlelight, enough to illuminate the dark room. Tullius and Rikke were chained as she was - Ulfric had freed Elisif earlier. Now it was just the three of them.

Her mouth felt dry; the rag soaked up her saliva alarmingly. How long had they been there? How long had they hung there, waiting? Was morning soon? Was the headsman already up and sharpening his axe?

She squeezed her eyes shut, exhausted and trying not to cry. But she apparently fell asleep, because she woke up to a dark shape shaking her.

"Wake up!" the shape hissed. "It's time. You have to go!"

Was this how they woke up all prisoners to be executed? It was a little...abnormal. She conjured up a candlelight and found herself staring at Erik, in a white cotton shirt soaked with blood.

"You have to go. There isn't much time," he growled. He ripped the cloth out of her mouth and she gasped for air, the cloying taste of the rag finally free of her tongue.

"Am I dying now?" she asked dizzily. A key turned in a lock, and she dropped to the floor, sucking air in through her mouth.

"Ralof, help her up! I have to get the others."

"Yes, sir." Burly arms lifted her up, and supported her.

"Ralof. What's going on?"

"You're escaping, Dragonborn," Ralof said determinedly. Chains rattled, and Rikke and Tullius were freed.

"There is a ship off the coast that will take you three to High Rock. From there, you can get to Cyrodiil," Erik's voice rumbled in the flickering darkness.

"I'm not leaving Skyrim," Siona panted.

"You have to," Bone-Breaker snapped.

"This is my home, Erik," she said. "I can't leave. Send the Imperials back to Cyrodiil. But I'm staying."

Ralof and Erik exchanged a glanced. The redhead, hesitating, gave him a quick nod.

"Fine. But we're establishing you in a shack out in the wilderness, alright? Ralof will lead you there. Ralof: the old crabber's shanty, the abandoned one. You know it." He turned to the two Imperials. "I'll be escorting you to the Merry Dog. The captain is under my command. And practically half my gold," he muttered angrily under his breath. "Greedy bastard."

He turned to lead the Legion general and legate away.

"Wait," Siona blurted out. "Why are you doing this?"

Erik paused and half turned to look Siona dead in the eye. "Because I'm not losing you again because of my stupid decisions."

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, but before she could find the words to say, he had gone.

"Come, Lady Dragonborn," Ralof whispered, his voice rough. "He's going to be alright." A bundle was placed in her hands. "Take the cloak, and put it on. If you could, hunch a little bit? There's a cane to go with it. We're sneaking you out of the city as an elder."

She nodded and quickly put it on, pulling up the hood to hide her face. Ralof opened the door to the cool Skyrim night and took her arm as though escorting her. They hurried down the street, where many people were milling about anxiously.

"Ralof," Siona hissed.

"Yes, grandmother?" he replied, glancing at her as though anxious - Siona figured he didn't have to pretend that much.

"What are all these people doing here? It's late, isn't it?"

Ralof hesitated, and was quiet.

"Well? Answer me, dammit!"

"Once we're out of the city," he said through gritted teeth.

They continued strolling down the street, Ralof quickening their pace. They got to the entrance and a Stormcloak stopped them.

"Halt. There's a murderer on the loose. No one can leave the city."

Ralof's face took on an expression of fury. "Do you think I don't know that? Of course I do! I'm just trying to get my grandmother out of the city! She's practically catatonic."

Siona began to slowly shake and creak out a few elderly sounding groans. The guards looked at each other hesitantly and Ralof sighed, pulling out a sheet of paper.

"Recognize this? It's a waiver. Signed by General Bone-Breaker himself." Ralof's eyebrows lifted. "Open the gates, please."

The Stormcloak looked at his patrol partner, who nodded. The gates opened quickly at a gesture, and Ralof and Siona hurried out of the city, the wooden doors slamming shut behind them. They shuffled out of view of the sentries, and Siona stood, tossing back her hood.

"A murderer in the city? Who died?" she asked. Ralof slid his eyes over to her, his expression grave.

"Ulfric was stabbed in his sleep. He's dead."


	18. Chapter 17: Forgiveness

**AN: So a bit of explanation, and a bit of fluff. Hopefully, we will now get back on track to where I wanted to go! Also, hopefully, this will leave you with enough ending before we start the next leg of the story, so that if I can't update as often, it's no biggie.**

**Anyways, here you go! Thanks to all readers and reviewers. :)**

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The shanty was comfortable, though abandoned. Ralof had cautioned her to stay here while everything was sorted out - apparently, Ulfric had ordered all of her houses burned as they took over each hold. They also had to be careful, as many Stormcloaks knew that Siona was supposed to be executed alongside the two Imperials.

She cleaned up the house, mending the broken boards and cleaning the small blanket left behind, sewing whatever tears were in it. Ralof would come out to the small house every few days, bearing supplies and always a small bunch of red mountain flowers, tied by a length of leather cord. She first started throwing them into the river, but after a while, she filled a jar with water and placed them in there. They added color to the sparse but comfortable shanty.

Eventually, with the packages came letters, signed by Erik. He would ask her for her opinion. Ralof would wait as she wrote back. No, don't send that many soldiers to deal with the bandits; yes, save the surplus food for next year, as famines were never planned; taxes and budgeting should be done so that there is always enough money for the people, as your wealth is not that important; and so on.

She would learn, from passing hunters who only saw her as the strange Redguard living the hermit's life, that her changes were being implemented under Ulfric's second-in-command, filling his shoes.

It had been announced that Ulfric was murdered by a nameless, surviving Imperial foot soldier. His head had been hung from a pike and his body fed to the skeevers in the sewers of Solitude. Bone-Breaker now resided in the Blue Palace with Elisif, and there were faint rumors that he was planning to marry her, to unite Skyrim once and for all. The idea made Siona sick, even though it was unfounded, but she tried to push the thought far back into the depths of her mind, where it wouldn't be found.

The river beside the shanty unfroze with the coming of First Seed. Siona could hardly believed she had been in such a spot for so long, but she waited quietly. If it had been as it once was, she would have left ages ago. But something kept her back, kept her waiting, her ink and quill at the ready to help reform a country.

With First Seed came Rain's Hand, and then Second Seed. Ralof brought summer clothes, light cotton garb imported from Hammerfell. She knew, without a doubt, that this was Erik himself. She couldn't help but resent that he never came down to see her, but her pride told her that she should be glad, that she should be perfectly fine without that jerk coming by; yet her heart still ached. To fill in the void, she continued to read, and daydream, and hunt, and wait for Ralof to come by for a snatch of conversation, a shared meal, a bite of news.

And then, the fourteenth of Midyear, it changed.

Siona sat outside the shanty, dipping her feet in the cool water. The snows off the mountains had melted, and the creek had swelled dramatically. She knew that there was a higher chance of mudcrabs, but she kept a dagger handy regardless.

Lifting her face to the sun, she took a deep breath in through her nose and sighed. The day was warm but muggy, the mountain flowers fragrant, and the water swished pleasantly between her toes. As the sunlight beat down on her face, she swished her feet into the water.

_Funny_, she thought. _This is the most relaxed I've ever been, I think, since I entered Skyrim_. Opening her eyes, she studied the storm clouds in the distance idly. She would have to place the buckets under the holes in the roof, if it started to rain.

Someone cleared their throat behind her, and she closed her eyes again, leaning back on her elbows and moving her feet back and forth, letting the water flow over them. "Just put the supplies in the cabin as usual, Ralof, and come back to put your feet in the water. I'm sure they must hurt."

There was a hesitation, and the Nord moved away. Siona let her toes lightly touch a smooth rock, rubbing the ball of her foot against it almost unconsciously, mind lost in the Skyrim summer haze.

The Nord thumped down beside her, and she felt a small, shuddering wave across her calves as he put his feet in.

"Was it a good trip?" she asked, turning her head and opening her eyes. She blinked and sat straight up.

"Erik."

"Hello to you, too," he said, with fake cheer. He was trying too hard.

He looked good; healthy and robust, with thicker arms and broader chest. Aye, he lived up to his Nord heritage, certainly. His white shirt was loose on him, though, and his hair was tied with a leather cord, though she could see a braid peeking out in the red hair beside his temple. The brown wool trousers were rolled up to his knees, his square feet distorted in the flowing water.

He looked so tired, though; the dark bags underneath his eyes were a testament to that. The wrinkles on his forehead and between his eyebrows were those of worry. The last few years had been rough on him. But he was clearly doing well. He was cleanly shaved, his beard neatly clipped. The clothes looked fine, for their simplicity, and Siona was puzzled.

"Er, I'm sorry. I just thought you'd be Ralof."

"Clearly," he said dryly, a smile quirking at his lips. He looked down at his hands clasped in his lap, quiet. "It's good to see you again."

For a moment, the only sound was the swishing of the plants in the summer breeze and the lapping of the creek over the rocks.

"It's good to see you, too," Siona finally said quietly. Their glances met and they looked away again, unsure of what to say.

"I'm Jarl of Windhelm, now," Erik said, finally.

"Really?" Siona replied in conversational tones. There was a glint of guilt in the Nord's eyes.

"Ulfric named me as his successor, since he had no family to speak of," he said. "So with it comes the responsibilities of being the war's victor."

"And thus all the letters?"

"Yes." He looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry to bother you so much about it all. I just...I don't..." He let out a grunt of frustration and dug his fingers into his hair. "I have no idea what in Oblivion I'm doing," he stated flatly. "I didn't think about that when I..." His sentence dropped off and he switched topics. "It's just all happened so fast, what with Ulfric dying, and..." He sighed. "Siona," he said quietly, "I can't do this on my own."

The hurt of losing the war and his original betrayal stung at Siona's heart all of the sudden. "You have to deal with it," she said bitterly. "You're the one who joined the Stormcloaks."

"And it was the worst mistake I could have made!"

Her gaze snapped back at him. Thunder rolled in the distance.

She hesitated. "What do you mean?"

He stared at his toes in the water, flexing them against the silty bed. "The Stormcloaks were what I believed in," he said softly. "Ulfric was not. But, it would seem, that most of the Stormcloaks had loyalty to Ulfric rather than loyalty to Skyrim."

"Well, I could have told you that."

"Will you let me finish?" The sentence wasn't harsh, but Siona shut her mouth almost immediately. He sighed again.

"I made it my mission to make my loyalty to Skyrim, and thus, I had a lot of men slowly swayed to my side. After going on several campaigns, people took to calling me a hero." He chuckled blackly. "I didn't see where slaughtering entire forts, filled with men who probably had families and children and wives, could make me a hero. It just made me feel like a murderer.

"I grew tired of Ulfric's posturing, and the way he treated the Argonians and the Dunmer in Windhelm. Anyone who wasn't a Nord, he had no tolerance for." Erik laced his fingers back together, looking up at the sky. "I understand as much as the next man, Skyrim is the land of the Nords. But it is also home to the Khajiit, and the Altmer, and the Bretons, and the Dunmer who come here. And a certain young Redguard woman I knew."

He bowed his head. "When Galmar died, I had risen to prominence for Ulfric. My battle prowess - all learned from traveling with and watching you - attracted him, as well as my loyalty to Skyrim, which he mistook as loyalty to him." More fidgeting. "Once, his cause was not misplaced, but I believe that, as time wore on, he was distracted from it. And then it was him versus the Empire." He stared at the approaching dark clouds. "So when Galmar was killed - by you! I did have a private moment of satisfaction at that; Galmar was nothing but a bullying lapdog - Ulfric searched for a new general, and found me.

"Honestly, I wasn't expecting it. I thought I would be a foot soldier for the majority of the war, and I was perfectly fine with it. But when I became Erik Bone-Breaker, Eagle-Eye, and general of the Stormcloaks, I was taken from the battlefield and from the few friends I had there."

His voice became hushed, and sad. "They passed, later on. Died in skirmishes and ambushes. I couldn't help but feel responsible, as though I had ordered them to their death. Ulfric brushed off each death, commemorating the fallen in flamboyant speeches that had no heart. But I thought of each man and woman as they were: lives, snuffed out for an ideal. Would we have been any worse off, in living conditions, if we had tolerated the White-Gold Concordat and the Empire? No. But we died for an ideal.

"I am not a prominent Talos worshipper. But I'm a proud Nord, and Talos is my divine. It's wrong that it took going through a war to make me realize that most of this is in vain." He looked sick. "The Thalmor will fall upon us, with magic and superior forces, and Skyrim will fall. All of this pain and blood will be for naught."

His face contorted into an angry scowl. "And now that the Stormcloaks have taken Skyrim, and Ulfric is dead, I'm left to repair the hurt my side has caused." His fist slammed against the packed dirt. "I didn't think about the consequences of my actions, and now I'm left with a bigger burden than I could have possibly imagined."

He fell silent, and they sat side by side, quiet. Thunder rolled again in the distance.

"Why did you come today, Erik? Why didn't you send Ralof, like you usually do?"

He turned his green-eyed gaze on her. "I came to ask your forgiveness."

"My forgiveness? For what?" she asked, but she already knew the answer. He took her dark hand in his own callused ones, looking straight into her eyes.

"For my own stupidity. For leaving you, those years ago, and hurting you like I did. For joining the Stormcloaks. For kissing you, and then leaving..." His words fell off, and his eyes lowered. "I'm sorry. I'm a moron who talks big and has these grand ideals that he thinks make it all have some sort of sense. I don't know what I'm doing, Siona. I'm just an innkeeper's son from a backwater town in shoes too big to fill." He let go of her hand. "I'm a weak excuse for a Nord, and a weak excuse of a man for hurting you and leaving you like that." There was a pause. "I'm so, so sorry. I have no justification, and I understand if you hate me."

"I don't hate you." The words were out of Siona's mouth before she could think about them. She and Erik exchanged a glance and a shy smile.

"Thank you. That...it means a lot."

They were silent again, watching the storm clouds make their ominous approach. Siona was the one to speak first.

"What did you mean, when you freed us, when you said 'I'm not losing you again because of my stupid decisions'?"

Erik took a deep breath through his nose before speaking. "Exactly what I said. There was nothing on Nirn that was going to let you die like that, when I could do something about it."

"Nothing on Nirn? Even Ulfric?" she said dryly.

"Who do you think," he said quietly, "killed him?"

There was shocked silence.

"You killed Ulfric?"

"Aye."

"But...but why?"

"Because you are infinitely more important to me than that Nord, Siona," he said, his voice impassioned. "Because I knew he would hunt you down if I let you escape, and I couldn't let that happen. I love you, Siona."

Another silence, and Siona stood, stunned.

"You what?"

"I love you. Dearly. Do you think I kissed you all those years ago just because I could? Siona, you're all I've been able to think of for the past two years. All I've worried about, all I've wanted."

He stood beside her. Drops of rain fell around them, as they stood staring at each other. Erik look flustered, and unsure of himself.

"I'm horrible at this," he said. "I've never declared my feelings for someone after all, but I hope I don't scare you off." He took a deep breath before continuing. "You make me feel...like nothing else. Glorious. Your hair, your mouth, your nose, your eyes, your soul. And when I saw you on the floor of Castle Dour, bound and defeated, my heart was both elated to see you and torn for you. I felt...broken. And Ulfric's damned dismissal of you, the most glorious of creatures, made rage grow in me.

"And I killed him. He deserved it, to me, and I let you escape. I pinned it on a random corpse I found on the battlefield. I said that I had murdered him myself, and put his head on a pike. No one knows it was me - except for you. Not even Ralof. But Siona, I did it for you." He ran his hands through his hair. "I always dreaded the idea of meeting you on the battlefield. I knew that I would probably die when I saw those blue eyes under an Imperial helmet, face-to-face, and I would die happy. You've held all of me for three years, now, and I can't take you not knowing anymore. I have to tell you, because otherwise, I feel like my heart would explode."

His shoulders hunched and he looked at her, a mixture of fear and relief in his eyes. "So, there you go," he finished lamely.

Siona was silent, watching him. The rain trickled down her face, down the slope of one cheek, as it began to fall harder.

He scuffed one boot against the ground, quickly muddying. "I understand if you want me to leave, and never want to see me again. I've said a lot, and I'm not sure I'm redeemed, but I just wanted to get this off my chest."

Siona took a deep breath, the expression on her face unreadable. He pressed his lips together and nodded, about to turn on his heel.

"Well, um...this is it, then?"

She paused and, then, strode forward.

"You moron," she said simply, clutching his shoulders and kissing him roughly. When she broke away, he looked blissfully disconcerted.

"You're not leaving me like that again," she murmured before their lips touched again, her arms wrapping around his neck. His hands clutched her waist, pressing her to him. His beard tickled her mouth and cheeks and throat as his lips crossed her face, and down her neck, before he brought his mouth next to her ear.

"Never." The hushed word sent shivers down her spine, and, taking his hand, she pulled him towards the shanty.

The rain continued to pour down.

. . .

She listened to his heartbeat through his bare chest, the blankets tangled around them. The rain beat steadily on the wooden roof of the shanty, accompanied by the steady drip of rainwater into numerous buckets on the floor. So this was peace? Or love? She had not felt either in ages.

Erik wrapped a pale arm around her. Funny, how stark it looked against her dark skin, but how natural it seemed to be so close, with his arm around her, and his heartbeat in her ear. His touch was so warm now. She tilted her head and breathed him in, closing her eyes. This was what she had wanted, wasn't it? And yet reality seemed more like a fantasy than what she had conjured in her mind.

"Are you still awake?" came his groggy voice. She lifted her head from his chest, one hand splayed across his abdomen.

"Yes." His hair seemed, more than ever, like fire in the light of the single, guttering candle.

"Good." His hand stroked her hair, twining her longest lock of hair around callused finger. She swatted sleepily at his hand.

"Don't do that, it'll get knots."

"Aren't you going to cut it, like you usually do?"

She shrugged against him. "Maybe. Depends on how I feel. I can still fight with long hair, after all."

Erik smiled, his eyes crinkling, and he ran a hand up and down Siona's arm. After a moment, he shifted to leaning on one arm, bent over the Redguard.

"Beautiful girl," he murmured, gently tapping her nose. She scrunched it as his finger retracted. "Clever girl." He lowered himself to touch his lips to hers, with the force of a whisper. "Glorious girl." Siona closed her eyes, running her fingertips across his cheekbones as he kissed her a little harder, his hand moving to her waist. He tasted like she imagined sunshine would, warm as summertime. He leaned back, to resume stroking her hair.

"I worry Ralof will wonder where I am," he said, amused. "If I was attacked by a bear or not."

"Or a dragon," Siona teased.

"Only someone with the soul of one," Erik murmured, his fingers trailing over her collarbones and the small dip between them. She smiled, her teeth showing.

"Ah, and there are her fangs."

"Very funny," she chuckled, lightly flicking his bicep with her fingers. He wrapped an arm around her middle, pulling her to him. She nipped at his ear and he smiled, before glancing over at the bucket of water still being steadily filled on the floor.

"That rain really isn't letting up," he mused. Siona glanced at him.

"I could fix that, you know."

"Really?" He was intrigued. "There's a Shout for that?"

"Aye." She paused. "Do you want me to?"

"It would make the walk home easier."

Siona snorted, sitting up and wrapping one of the blankets around herself. "You're not leaving until I let you."

Erik raised his eyebrows. "Someone's getting cocky."

She mock-scowled at him and scooted to the end of the small bed, letting her feet touch the ground. Erik spread out in his position, finally not on a thin half of the single bed.

She stepped out into the rain and lifted her face, letting the drops hit her cheeks and eyelids and shoulders. Erik, from his position inside the shanty, admired how the droplets slid across her skin and down her back, trickling off of her hair. Siona took a deep breath.

"_LOK VAH KOOR_."

The Shout roared, a small shaking accompanying it. Erik looked around idly, all too well used to it from his days of adventuring with her.

The rain let up, and the clouds slowly dissipated. Siona smiled and looked back at Erik, who was applauding. She returned to the bed and snuggled tightly against him. He made a cry of mock-irritation.

"You're damp!"

"Yes, that's what happens when you stand out in the rain. I'm cold, too, so help me out."

He wrapped his arms around her, moving the dry blanket over her shoulders.

"So how many of those Shouts do you know?"

"About twenty, but I've also learned a bit of _dovah_ from the Greybeards."

"Oh?" He kissed her neck, his breath warm and misty. "Will you teach me a few words?"

"Well…alright." She smiled as he kissed her neck again, pulling the skin gently. "'_Koor_' means 'summer'."

"_Koor_," he repeated at her shoulder, making Siona giggled at the poor pronunciation.

"And '_haalvut_' means 'touch'."

"_Haalvut_," he said, his lips tracing her jawline. The sensation made her shiver.

"'_Brit_' is beautiful, and '_aask_' is…" Her sentence fell away, and he kissed her mouth in her pause.

"What does _aask_ mean?" he murmured, holding her tighter.

"Love," she said. "'_Aask_' means 'love'."

They smiled at one another sleepily, the color of the northern lights illuminating the room as they blew out the candle. Siona put her head back on Erik's chest. Tumbling into sleep, the fall was only broken when Siona spoke.

"Are you asleep?"

"Yes," came the reply. There was a pause.

"I think I love you," she murmured.

He didn't reply, but his hold on her tightened almost imperceptibly.


	19. Chapter 18: War

**AN: Hey guys, college is awesome, but it has definitely gotten in the way of writing. This isn't exactly an exciting chapter, but it serves its purpose. Hopefully, I'll have another one out soon - I've got some time this weekend to write.**

**Thanks to all of you who review. Really appreciate the ****feedback. Enjoy!**

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"If you don't stop squirming, it's going to hurt more."

"But it hurts..."

"It means it's working, nimrod!"

Siona pressed the rag back to the wound on his shoulder blade, and Erik hissed in pain.

"Stop moving!"

"I can't help it!"

Siona sighed and removed the rag, pressing her lips to Erik's shoulder and then his neck. "Perhaps, then, you shouldn't go fighting bears."

"He fought me first," Erik grumbled, but his tense shoulders relaxed as she kissed his neck again, her arm wrapped around his waist. His teeth gritted, however, as she placed the poultice soaked rag on his cut again.

It was Hearthfire, and there was a cool wind in the air, the forerunner of winter. Erik had made a point to come in place of Ralof at least twice a month, if only to say hello and share a meal. Though that never happened. He usually ended up staying the night.

Siona worried about him. He looked more tired as time went on, the bags under his eyes growing darker with passing days, and his face more gaunt. He was stressed by the sheer amount of work and responsibility on his shoulders; while Siona heard talk of how Skyrim was finally being fixed for good, she knew it was at his expense. He slept fitfully by her side when he wasn't sitting alone, staring at the fire with a pipe and a stark, harsh expression.

She tried to comfort him then: sit in his lap, stroke his hair, whisper loving words into his ear. Sometimes, he would smile fully at her, gather her in his arms and kiss her gently. Otherwise, he would only give her a fake smile, wan, and his eyes would look far away. It scared her.

But today, he had been...different. Quieter. Not as quick to sweep her off her feet in a stunning, breathtaking embrace that was warm and a little fast and smelled of good Nordic lye soap. Of course, there was the bear attack, but his actions in general were far different. She found herself a little reserved as a result.

After a moment, the wound has been cleaned to her satisfaction and she wrung the rag out, setting it to dry by the fire. She turned and found herself face to face with the burly Nord, his shirt still in his hand.

"Thank you," he said quietly, holding her shoulders to give her a slow, soft kiss. It never failed to make her feel dizzy. The wool of his crumpled shirt against her shoulder was rough, but it wasn't enough to make her flinch.

"Just make sure it doesn't happen again," she mock-scolded before smiling and running a hand through his flame-red hair. "You said earlier that you wanted to talk to me?" There was a tremble in her words; 'wanting to talk' was almost never a good thing. She watched him as he threw his shirt over his head.

He took her hand - her heart fluttered fearfully - and led her to the bed, sitting down. "I need you to leave Skyrim," he said quietly. Siona immediately jumped up.

"No!"

"Siona - "

"No, not just no - fuck no!"

"Siona - "

"If you think for one moment that I'm going to leave Skyrim - and you! - you are sorely mistaken!"

"Siona!"

She closed her mouth as he rose.

"You don't necessarily need to leave Skyrim," he said, his voice soft. "I just need you somewhere safe for the next few years."

She struggled to let the anger and horror not surface to her expression. "So you expect me to hide? To run away?"

"From the Thalmor and the hordes of assassins they're probably going to send upon you, yes."

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

Erik sighed and glanced away from her, staring out the door. "The Aldmeri Dominion will declare war on Skyrim, as a country separate from the Empire, unless we present the head of the Dragonborn to them in two months time." He looked back at her, his gaze piercing straight into hers. "And I'm not going to let that happen. Ever," he said firmly. "But there are those beneath me who, for all their talk of bravery and battle, are scared of the Aldmeri Dominion, and would gladly murder you for the chance to avoid war.

"The Stormcloaks did not fight against the Empire to hand Skyrim over to those Altmer bastards. _I_ did not do all I did, just so we could be imprisoned under new chains." He stroked her cheek with one knuckle, his eyes far away. "Hammerfell drove the Dominion to a stalemate, and blood was shed, but they did it. The Empire was weak, and too quick in signing the White-Gold Concordat. But Nords managed to survive under the return of dragons, and they will not bend under mortal souls."

He suddenly returned to the moment and gave Siona a lopsided smile. "Of course, the whole dragon thing worked out with your help, O mighty Dragonborn."

Siona gave him a quick nod before speaking. "But did you think to ask me what I wanted?"

He looked startled, then sheepish. "Ah...no. I'm a prig, aren't I?" He sat down on the creaky wooden bed and drew her beside him, holding her around the waist. "What do you want, _brit_?" His _dovah_ was a bit better.

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, clearly, I don't want to die," she said dryly. "But I don't want to run away, either." Siona paused. "It seems to me that I cannot participate in the upcoming war."

"There is danger from both sides - the innumerable Thalmor, and the scared and distrustful Nords with us," Erik stated. "The risk is too great."

"I want to stay in Skyrim."

"Then I want you to find the safest place you can." He took her hands. "Siona, I love you. You know that. And if it were up to me, you'd stay by my side throughout all this. But for your sake, and mine, I can't let you. If you were killed, I'd die, if of nothing but a broken heart."

She hesitated, and sighed, looking around the shack. "I can't stay here?"

"No, darling." He raised his eyebrows. "You've been talking to the hunters, and they're the gossip spreaders. If word got out that there was someone being consistently visited High King of Skyrim - "

"You're the High King?" Her eyes were wide. "Why didn't you tell me this? How have you been getting away with visiting me?"

"Well it's not easy," he said archly. "But the Moot met a couple of months ago, and... Well, you know the rest." He ran his hand through his hair. "They want me to marry Elisif, but I said no. Why would I want to marry my predecessor's wife, when I have something better right here?"

He shook his head. "Anyways, you need to go where no one goes. Ever. And never would go there. Ever. If there's a place in Skyrim, good. Otherwise, leave. Please. Go back to Hammerfell - I will send for you when all of this is over with. And if it's never over, if we lose and I die, you'll still be safe."

There was a long pause as Erik waited for her answer.

"I am not leaving Skyrim," she said slowly. "But I will go to the safest place I know, where not even the Thalmor would tread."

"How will I know you're alright?" he murmured, gathering her up bridal style and placing her on his lap. She stroked his unshaven cheek with one hand and smiled.

"I'll send a message. You can burn it, if need be."

"I don't think that's very safe," he said suspiciously. "What if the Thalmor intercept it?"

"They will not intercept a dragon," she replied. His eyebrows rose.

"You'll be sending a dragon? Well, there goes any attempt at subtlety."

"No one would dare attack a dragon head-on, especially not Odahviing. He is far too strong for some elves to kill." Siona stroked his cheek. "It will be fine. I will send him to Dragonsreach; he knows the way. You should wait there for him."

"For how long? My rightful place is in Windhelm," he reminded her. "And the war may begin soon."

"Then lead your advisers to Whiterun for a small period of time. Say that you would like to stay closer to the middle of Skyrim and conduct a census. Find who would be willing to fight and if it's not enough, you will have to conscript them." Siona brushed his cheek with her lips. "It will all be fine, darling. I will be safe. And you will stay alive, or else."

He laughed. "Or else what?"

"Terrible things. Things you'll be scarred from." She smiled and climbed off of his lap, standing in front of him for a moment before wriggling out of her dress. It fell into a small pile on the floor. "Now, take off your shirt. If you think I'm going to let you say goodbye fully clothed, you are sorely mistaken."

His smile was as bright as the sun. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, pulling it off his back before she pushed him down on the bed, lips connecting in a furious, warm, wet embrace.

. . .

Many of the High King's advisers had been puzzled when he moved the entire operation to Dragonsreach, leaving Jorleif to attend to the city's affairs. He had remained close lipped about it, only adamantly insisting on the move.

They arrived in Frostfall and quickly set up the court there. The High King seemed distant, and melancholy - even the introduction of bards and beautiful dancers did not lift his spirits. His advisers worried for him. He stayed up late on the viewing platform of the palace with a pipe and a rocking chair, the smoke curling around his flame red hair. The bags under his eyes proved how little he slept.

It was Sun's Dusk before he received the dragon. The Thalmor had been pressing for the Dragonborn's head, and Erik had staunchly refused. The fire in his eyes had scared even the Altmer messenger, who had quickly slunk away with the denial. The Nord was beginning to falter and weaken, though he did not show it to anyone. It was only when he was alone, such as on nights like then, that he even acknowledged it.

The speck in the distance caused him to sit up, choking on the pipe smoke in his breathless excitement. Was this it? Many a time he had seen a speck such as this, only for it to be a damned cloud.

The speck grew closer and Erik jumped up, letting the pipe fall to the floor. He rushed towards the balcony, leaning to get a closer view. Wings flapped, and there was a roar in the distance. He could have shouted with joy.

The dragon drew closer, his blood-red wings flapping in the moonlight. For such a large creature, he was extraordinarily graceful, landing on the platform with ease.

Erik admired the beauty of the beast for a moment before giving him a deep bow. "_Drem Yol Luk, fahdon dovah_," he greeted, using some of the terminology that Siona had taught him.

The dragon turned to fix his green eyes on Erik. "_Drem Yol Luk, fahdon bron_." Greetings, friend Nord. "I have a message from the _dovahkiin_." Odahviing extended a claw: a scroll was tied to it with a leather strap.

"Thank you, Odahviing." He carefully untied the scroll and perused its contents, his eyes lighting up. "Yes, this is very good. Thank you again."

The dragon suddenly pushed his face towards Erik, nudging the High King with his nose accidentally. "So you are the _aask_ of the _dovahkiin_." He tilted his head, watching the human. "You are the _hun_, the hero, I have heard so much of."

Erik's face turned as bright as his hair. "Oh?" he tried to say casually, but it came out as more nervous than intended.

The dragon nodded. "You are _sahqo_, red. Like me. And I sense you have the _silmulaag_, soul strength, of the _dov_." Odahviing turned, wings flapping experimentally. "You will _kron_, conquer, the _fahliil_, elves, who seek to harm you. The High King of _Keizaal_, Skyrim, has the _dov_ on his side."

Erik was taken aback for a moment before he bowed deeply. "I thank you, _fahdon dovah_," he said quietly. The dragon hummed before he launched himself into the night, the colors of the aurora playing on his wings. He soon disappeared into the distance.

Erik glanced down at the paper in his hands before thrusting the corner of the page into a torch. He watched as the flame licked down the white square before letting it fall to the floor, dissolving into ash.

. . .

It was Morning Star of 4E208 when the Thalmor first began to attack. They sent in several waves of foot soldiers from the sea to attack Dawnstar and Solitude. There had been enough foresight to keep Nord soldiers stationed at all borders and entrances to Skyrim, and the Altmer had been driven back each time.

It was only when they snuck through the ruins of Helgen that they managed to enter the country and gain a foothold there. The Skyrim scouts that roamed the land were quick to try and kill each group they came across, but the Thalmor camps blossomed across the country like mushrooms.

There was a short time of spastic fighting until the Battle of Bard's Leap, in Evening Star 4E209. The Forsworn had entered into an agreement with the Altmer to take the Reach back from the Nords if they were overthrown. The High King led the forces of Skyrim against the Thalmor, but was forced to call a retreat. The Altmer had managed to cut off many of the Nord factions from the main army and force them off the waterfall to plunge to their deaths in the freezing water.

While the Altmer crowed in their victory, there was a low morale amongst the native army. Many had expected to drive out the Aldmeri Dominion in a year - the failure to do so was disheartening for many. The High King gave a rousing speech at a New Life Festival in Solitude that rekindled the fire that they had lost in losing part of the Reach to the Altmer.

The Skyrim forces scattered across the country, drawing the Altmer in many different directions with some losses, but far more victories. The Thalmor's main camp in Falkreath Hold was sacked under General Ralof in 4E211, in the Battle of Evergreen Grove. In a surprising turn of events, Spriggans launched an ambush against the Thalmor in the midst of battle - many Skyrim natives stopped fighting and stepped back, stunned by the sight of the tree-like creatures ensnaring the elves. They made short work of them.

The High King was found the next day sitting cross-legged in the grove, somehow conversing with a tall Spriggan who stood out from the rest. Evergreen Grove was declared a memorial site, and illegal to hunt upon. A small shrine was set up to the Spriggans, and decorated with snowberries, mountain flowers, and juniper. Pilgrims that worshipped the spirit of Nirn still visit the shrine, and it has grown considerably.

There was only spastic fighting where the tide of the war ebbed and flowed: some years, the Thalmor had victory over all of Skyrim, until the Skyrim force pushed back and took control again, and vice versa. This remained the case until 4E 217, with the Dovahgrah, the Dragon Battle.

The High King, having celebrated his thirty seventh birthday only three days before, had called his generals to the plains of Whiterun on the 23rd of Sun's Dusk. The Thalmor had been waiting in a large encampment on the other side - the smoke from their makeshift forges and campfires had made the sunrise hazy and grey, though the sky was as blue as anything.

Ralof had been worried out of his mind - the High King was nowhere to be found the morning of the battle. However, a messenger arrived later with orders to attack at the sun's highest point, and that Erik would be by later with help.

The battle had begun as normal. Altmer forces had used their magic to their advantage, but the Skyrim forces had smartened up. The College of Winterhold had been training battlemages since the Battle of Bard's Leap, led by the Nord Onmund, who specialized in synthetic lightning. A new weapon, a catapult laced with shock magic, was used in the first two hours of fighting. It drained the Altmer mages, who were then forced to use their foot soldiers.

Nordic steel and Elven moonstone clashed on the field, accompanied with battle cries and death screams. Sparks and fire lit up the field, and it went on into the late afternoon.

Ralof fretted above the battlefield. Where was the High King? Had he been ambushed by Altmer forces on his way back? Concern had him almost fully armored and about to conduct a search party, when a tremor and a roar shook the plains.

The fighting ebbed and stopped.

Three dragons vaulted into the air, with riders in Dragonplate armor sitting on their backs. The sight was fearsome as the dragons roared again, and fire spurted from their maws.

The High King, seated on Odahviing's back, raised his sword and led a charge as the dragons hurdled towards the plain. "Retreat!" the Nord bellowed to his soldiers as the beasts painted the plains with fire. The Skyrim forces hurriedly returned to their base to watch as the dragons decimated the Altmer and destroyed their encampment. It was only when the sky itself seemed on fire from the aurora that the High King dismounted from Odahviing and accepted the Altmer surrender.

Later that night, after much feasting and celebration, Ralof returned to the royal tent to find the High King packing a knapsack fervently, dressed in thick leather armor.

"My lord?" Ralof said a bit drunkenly.

"You will return the forces to their homes, Ralof," Erik said bluntly, not looking up as he packed.

"My lord, what are you doing? Why are you not celebrating?"

Erik finally looked at his friend as he slung the bag over his shoulder and strapped his bow across his back. "I have one more thing I must do before I can celebrate, Ralof. You of all people should know that."

His green eyes burned into Ralof's gaze. The general slumped against the side of the tent. "This is about Siona, isn't it?"

"Aye. I am to go to her, now that this is all over with," he stated, moving towards the door.

Ralof hesitated. "Just...be careful, my lord. With such a victory, it would be disheartening to lose you now."

"Of course, Ralof." He clapped his friend on the shoulder and grinned. It made the bags under his eyes seem darker. Ralof suddenly noticed the subtle streaks of premature grey in his king's red hair. He was so tired. "Inform the officers tomorrow that I have gone on a short journey and will return. They do not need to know where." His smile became more amused. "And I think you should stop drinking for the night, lest you want a hangover tomorrow. You can sleep in my bed."

Ralof chuckled. "Yes, my lord."

They gripped forearms for a moment before Erik broke away, exiting the tent to sling himself over a dark bay horse. He paused as he fiddled with the saddle, thinking of bright, ice blue eyes.

"I am coming for you, _brit_," he murmured, glancing up the fiery, aurora filled sky before snapping the reins and leading the horse into a gallop.


	20. Chapter 19: Reunited

**AN: Hey guys! Only a couple more chapters, and then I'm done! I'm glad you guys have stuck with me through writing this; it was really nice having you all along for the ride. Thanks to all the readers and reviewers. I really appreciate you guys taking the time to read this.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Vilemyr Inn was having a slow night. But it was always having a slow night in Ivarstead, it seemed. Not many travelers passed through here anymore.

Wilhelm polished a tankard halfheartedly, eyes boring into the fire. Lynly strummed her lute softly in a chair, making the only noise above the crackle of the flames. Just another Morning Star night.

The door creaked open, letting a gust of winter air into the inn. It quickly closed, and a man stepped in, removing his gloves. His leather armor was fringed with fur that looked warm and soft, but his nose and cheeks were red with cold. He looked frightfully tired underneath the hood he wore.

"Good evening," the man said, pulling down his hood. His hair, bright red with small streaks of grey, was startling.

"Good evening," Wilhelm replied, blinking. "Can I interest you in a room for the night?"

"Yes, please. And some food, if you have any." The man shuffled towards the counter. "The food first would be nice." He reached into a bag at his side and pulled out a fifty septim piece. "That should cover it all."

"Of course, sir," Wilhelm said smoothly, knowing that this was enough for two people to stay comfortably. He pulled out a bowl and slopped some stew into it, handing it to the man. "And what brings you to Ivarstead, sir?"

"Please, call me Erik," the man stated, pushing a hand through his flame colored hair. "I am here for High Hrothgar."

"You are a pilgrim climbing the 7,000 Steps?" Wilhelm inquired. He certainly didn't look like a pilgrim...more like a warrior.

The man smiled wanly, rubbing the thick stubble across his jaw. "Something like that."

Wilhelm nodded and resumed polishing a tankard as the stranger ate the stew ravenously, as though he hadn't eaten in days. Finally, Erik pushed the bowl back towards the innkeeper.

"Thank you. It was very good." He readjusted the knapsack on his shoulder and stood. "Can you direct me to my room?"

The innkeeper pointed, and the man gave him a nod before walking over to it, the door closing behind him. Wilhelm shook his head. What an odd man.

. . .

Erik kept his bow at the ready as he climbed the steps. While he had figured that the trek would have been fairly horrible (seven thousand steps, after all), he had severely misjudged just how hard it would have been. He stopped, out of breath, every half hour or so. His cheeks were ruddy with the cold through his fur lined hood, and his breath was expelled in thick clouds of mist.

He had passed a couple of pilgrims and several goats on the way up. Wolves had been quickly dispatched as they had jumped, howling, at his throat. The familiar, tired ache in his joints reminded him of his lack of sleep for the past ten years. Wearily, he looked around himself.

He was far up the mountain, having been climbing for the duration of the day. The day was becoming darker. All the times he paused set him back a couple of hours, but he didn't mind. The cold never bothered the hardy Nord people, after all. The snow coming down in sheets and blowing into his eyes, on the other hand, greatly made the climb harder as he had ascended. He couldn't count how many times he had nearly fallen over the edge.

Erik cursed his luck as a screech of wind whipped strands of his hair across his face, accompanied by a roar he was familiar with. Frost troll. The bastards had always been target practice when he was a foot soldier for the Stormcloaks; they had lost several good men and women with that leg of training, and Erik had held a black hatred for them ever since.

He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and hugged the inner wall of the pass, creeping lightly through the snow. Squinting, he tried to see through the blizzard, to no avail. Another roar was let out, and there was a thump at his feet. He crouched down to see what had fallen, and his lip curled in disgust. A goat head, blood still pooling from its neck.

Erik looked up to see he was standing under a ledge. There was a grunt, and a vibration went through the rock. So the son of a bitch was above him. He stepped a few paces back, the arrow strung and pulled back in Brightarc.

He could see, through the snow, the head and shoulders of the beast. Accounting for the wind and the height and how it would have to arc, he pulled back a little harder before loosing the arrow. It buried itself in the neck of the troll, stopping as the arrowhead revealed itself on the other side, coated in blood. The red shimmered in the blizzard, and with a choking, animal screech, the beast toppled forward, its life spurting from its neck.

Erik gave his work a quick nod and continued forward. The gods could throw anything in front of him, but it wasn't going to stop him from getting to Siona.

. . .

High Hrothgar was stunning to Erik; a huge rock against the storm, it stood apart from the mountain like a fist against the heavens. He stopped in front of it, his legs trembling. Night had come, and the air dropped its temperature faster than a child dropped a hot pan; he could have sworn that the sweat on his forehead was beginning to freeze underneath the midnight moon. He offered up a quick prayer of gratitude to whatever deity was listening and walked to the door, lifting a heavy fist to pound on the door.

He waited for a good twenty minutes before slamming his freezing hand against the door a couple more times. Another twenty minutes: no response. In frustration, he pulled the door handle, and...it opened. He kicked himself mentally and shifted his pack, stowing his bow away before he entered the sanctuary.

His footsteps were hollow in the fortress, bouncing and echoing against the stone. Siona had told him that there were only four or so Greybeards, but it was still unsettling to see the emptiness of it all. Granted, they were probably asleep, but all the same.

Erik pulled off his gloves, suddenly feeling sheepish. Perhaps he should have come earlier - but he had left at dawn this morning, so it wasn't as though he had much choice of arrival time. Tired and cold to the bone, he moved deeper within the sanctuary. At least it was warm here.

He looked around himself in disbelief. He was one of the few to ever enter High Hrothgar... What would his father say to him if he knew? Would he be proud? Erik had written to his father faithfully every month once he had separated from Siona. Mralki was reaching his late sixties, and had hired an assistant for the inn with the money Erik had sent him.

He turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand: finding Siona. He walked to a small alcove and glanced down it. A kneeling figure, with its back to him, was outlined with light from a candle. Hesitating, the Nord approached the figure.

"Hello?" he murmured, but his voice seemed loud in the silence. The figure didn't move. Cautiously, Erik began to walk closer. "I know it's late, and I know I'm a stranger, but I'm trying to find some - "

Before he could finish the word, the figure had a knife pressed to his neck, their hand ripping down Erik's hood. There was a slight pause, and the figure stepped back.

"Erik?"

The familiar voice sent a flood of relief through his body and he fell to his knees, clutching her skirts and pressing them to his face. "Siona," he breathed. "Siona, _brit_, darling, _aask_, my love..."

She knelt in front of him, tears brimming at the edges of her ice blue eyes. "Erik," she whispered. He reached out and drew her near, pressing her close to him. Her jasmine soap filled him, the feeling of her dry, dark, warm skin numbing his weariness as he held her.

"Gods, Siona, I..." He choked and buried his head in her neck, moving his hands to her upper arms. She had grown her hair out, and it was in a loose black braid down her back, over a dark burgundy robe. Siona moved a hand to touch his hair, noticing the streaks of grey.

"You're getting old," she said teasingly through her tears. He removed his head from her neck and touched her face with callused fingers.

"It's what happens," he stated, his eyes lost in her. He pressed his mouth fully onto hers and she ran her hands into his hair, pulling him harder against her face.

They broke apart and Siona began to laugh, a tear trickling down her cheek. He kissed it away, and she laughed again.

"Oh, Aedra damn it all," he sighed and kissed her again roughly, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the ground as he stood. When he let her back down on the ground, he brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. "I've missed you. No, that's too weak a word...I've longed for you, every second that you've been gone. I've ached. Gods, Siona, just...gods." She pressed herself against him, crying happily. He ran his hands up and down her arms, kissing her forehead with his eyes closed, breathing her in.

She broke from him after several moments and gazed straight into his eyes. "So it's safe now? Everything is okay?"

"Yes, _brit_." He gathered her up in his arms again, and showered her face with kisses. "The Thalmor are gone. Everything's back to normal, for the most part. You can come back with me. Please, Siona."

Her face suddenly became serious, though the glow of happiness was still there. "Erik," she said. "There was something I meant to tell you. I didn't get a chance - I was never sure where you were, or what you were doing, and now - "

"I thought you had gone to bed," a high pitched, childish voice proclaimed.

Erik and Siona broke apart to look at the source of the sentence. A young girl, no older than nine, stood in the archway, her dusky skin and dark red hair illuminated in the candlelight. Her green eyes peered at the two in confusion. Behind her, a boy with bright blue eyes, dark hair, and tanned skin held her hand protectively.

Siona knelt and the two children shuffled over to her arms. "Malexa, Erik, you should be asleep at this hour," she stated, raising her eyebrows.

"Lexie had a nightmare," the boy, Erik, replied, his eyes sliding over to the tall red headed Nord standing beside him. The girl, Malexa, whimpered at the memory. "Who's he?" the boy asked.

Siona glanced back at Erik the Slayer. "Children," she said quietly, "this is your father."

Erik stepped back in shock. "I'm what?" he spluttered.

The two children watched him as Siona stood and took his hand. "When I left, I was pregnant," she said gently. "And it was with twins."

Erik looked back at the children, shock numbing his system. "You - we...We have children," he stated dazedly.

"Yes," she affirmed. "I named them after you and my sister. I hope you don't mind."

"No! No, I...I don't." He looked again at the two children huddled closely together. He could see now; little Erik had his father's jawline, and Siona's eyes, where Malexa had his nose. They had the reddish hair, and their skin was lighter than Siona's and far darker than his. Gods, he had children!

"How old are you?" he asked, kneeling.

"I'll be ten in Midyear," little Erik said, his face gravely serious. His father watched as he put an arm around his sister. "So will Lexie." The girl nodded, shyly hiding her face in her brother's shoulder.

"You two should be in bed," Siona stated. The two grabbed her hands and Siona turned to Erik. "Will you help me tuck them in?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded. Malexa suddenly broke away from her mother and shuffled over to Erik, looking at him shyly before lifting her arms. He blinked and crouched to lift her and hold her, her face pressed into his shoulder. Siona smiled and turned, never acknowledging the glint of unshed tears in Erik's eyes.

. . .

Erik sat in the chair at the foot of the bed where Erik and Malexa slept, curled against each other. His pipe, half-forgotten in his hand, wafted with the sweet scent of tobacco. Dim candlelight illuminated his face as he watched the children sleeping.

Siona, standing beside him, touched his arm gently. "I'm sorry to have sprung this on you so quickly," she apologized. "I should have told you earlier."

"No," he said softly, raising a callused hand to touch hers. "This was the right way." He never took his eyes from the children. "They're beautiful," he stated after a moment.

"And they're yours."

"I'm still trying to wrap my mind around that one," he admitted. "But what are they like?"

Siona smiled and moved to sit on Erik's knee. He wrapped an arm around her and held her close as she leaned against him, placing her head on his shoulder.

"Malexa is the scholar of the family," she said after a quiet, intimate pause. "She has a grasp on magic I never did at that age, and she loves to read. The Greybeards have given her so many books, and she has quite the vocabulary.

"Erik, on the other hand, is no thinker, but very smart. His talents lie more in doing than thinking. Recently, he's picked up archery, but I've taught him the sword for a while. He is very protective of Malexa, and is curious of the outside world, though he would never leave his sister behind."

Erik nodded, the feeling of Siona's breath on his neck sending a pleasant feeling up his spine. "Do either of them have the Voice?"

Siona hesitated. "The Greybeards say no. They say that my dragon blood had little chance of passing down, but it was possible. But they have conducted a few studies, and they have concluded that while they could learn the Voice, it would be as with Ulfric - after many years and much training. They do not have the natural ability that I do."

Erik put down his pipe and wrapped both of his arms around Siona. She caressed his cheek, rough and unshaven.

"They like you, you know," she murmured. He gave her a crooked smile.

"I was worried they would resent me. There have been so many cases of the father being gone, and coming back to children who only see him as a stranger."

"You're no stranger to them, _aask_," she said, pressing her lips to his forehead. "I have told them many, many stories of your conquests and your adventures. I have told them all about you. They know you as well as they know me, and so they accept you."

Erik held her tighter as she stroked his hair.

"We should go to bed," he said after a moment. "And tomorrow we pack."

Siona sat back, surprise in her eyes. "Where are we going?"

"To Riften," he stated. "It's time you rejoined the real world."

She smiled and pressed her lips to his.


	21. Epilogue

We stood on the hillside silently, the only noise being the breeze teasing at our clothing. The two graves were peaceful, if a tad crude, but we knew that was how they would have wanted it; a no-fuss burial with little ceremony, side by side.

The red mountain flowers I had planted on Mama's grave years ago had begun to grow with an energy of their own, swaying in the light summer wind. Father's grave was only newly planted, but people had paid their respects to the man that had once been their High King, leaving flowers and septims by the fresh dirt.

I looked around us, at the crowd of people standing yards away, watching silently in their mourning clothes as the children of the dead paid their respects. For a moment, I wondered what they were thinking of us, this ragtag group that could only by united by their hero parents. What did they think when they thought of the Dragonchildren, the sons and daughters of the High King and the Dovahkiin? Our parents were heroes now, and would be legends in the generations to come, but we may fade away with the dust. I cast my eye over my siblings, studying each as best I could.

Our eldest brother, Erik, the namesake, stood silently by. The Jagged Crown rested on his brow, the sign of his succession. His eyebrows were drawn together, and he pulled his cloak closer, as though he felt a chill. Erik had always played with me by the hearth when he wasn't running the country. I had been born about three years before my father decided to delegate the country to my brother. Young Erik had been twenty when he took the Jagged Crown, and had done the best he could for Skyrim, nearly costing him everything sometimes. His leg, though, had been hurt in a hunting accident, and he had to use a cane every since. His favorite was the one given to Father by a jarl of Markarth.

Malexa stood beside him in her Archmage robes, her expression sorrowful yet serene; she had always been the calm, quiet one, even when she had ascended in the College of Winterhold. Now, she moved her hands in an incantation that settled over the graves, sealing them against robbers and necromancers. Mama had been so proud when Lexie had joined the College of Winterhold. "Doing what I never did," was what she remarked, hugging my sister tightly as she left with naught but her apprentice robes and a leather satchel. I did not remember it, being only two when she left; I was ten when she returned for a visit, head high and carrying the legendary Staff of Magnus.

Waylas had been born when Erik and Malexa were twelve, two years after Mama and Father had gotten married. We had been extraordinarily close, and we loved each other dearly. Many a time I had gone to him with a scraped knee from falling out of a tree, or crying from a tussle with the young boys in Rorikstead, so close to our small house. He had left home when I was twelve, and never looked back. I had cried so hard when he left. He never told us what it was he did for a living, exactly, but he certainly led a life of style and some luxury, living in Riften with an attractive Dunmer archer. The luxury could probably be attributed to more shady lifestyles; I had seen him packing armor that could not be mistaken for anything other than that of the legendary Nightingales. To be honest, he probably looked like a long black stick in it, being the tallest and skinniest of the family. Nonetheless, I wished him all the luck in his endeavors.

And then there was me. Aeta, the youngest, and the shortest, who stilled lived in the simple, cozy house Father built for Mama, and had lived in for close to twenty years when he gave up the Jagged Crown. I had loved Mama dearly, and hero-worshipped Father; perhaps that was why I became a mercenary, a sell-sword, while my siblings aspired to fame and greatness. It was enough for me, though, to walk the hills and mountain ranges of Skyrim, armed with Mama's Daedric sword and Father's trusty bow, Brightarc. The life of a simple mercenary was exhilarating, and everything I ever wanted.

Father had died of old age; he had always said it was what would kill him, but that Mama would find death on her own. And she did, staring down a giant with the Companions at the ripe old age of sixty three. Father had never been the same after that, but he had borne it bravely; there had been times, though, that I would find him alone, holding the knuckle bone of a dragon and his eyes bearing unshed tears.

I was there when he died; I had tended to him in his final moments. When he had cast his last breath, still holding my hand, I could swear on all the Daedra that he looked the happiest he had been in years. I suspect he had seen Mama, standing at the entrance to Sovngarde, waiting patiently for him. There had never been two people who loved each other more, and no two people who deserved it more.

I took a deep breath, breaking the companionable silence we Dragonchildren shared. We all looked up, and looked at each other, and smiled.

"They are in a better place now," Erik stated, his voice gruff yet gentle. "Sovngarde has two more heroes to add to its halls."

"Do you remember," Waylas said to me suddenly, "when Mama found out that Father had let us go into that burial cairn all those years ago?"

A grin tugged at my features. "Aye, and she nearly caused an earthquake with how loudly she shouted at him?"

We all chuckled.

"He was always getting yelled at, it seemed," Erik murmured, leaning on his cane. His dark red hair was being shot through with premature silver; he was only in his mid-forties, after all.

"Because he could handle her Voice," I remarked. "He was the only person who could withstand her thu'um."

"Aye." Erik looked up at the sky; the sun was beginning to set, casting streaks of bright orange against the darkening sky. "I'm not sure what to say over them. They deserve closure."

We were all silent, and then Malexa raised her head.

"You were our father and our mother," she said, her voice slow and soft. The wind seemed to die down as she spoke. "You were our heroes, and our caretakers. We owe you our lives, and all that we are, and all we will become. We can only pray to the Blessed Divines that the legends of Sovngarde will hold you in the highest regard as befitting your honor and bravery. You have both saved Skyrim, against not only the dragons but those who would do her harm, as well.

"Skyrim shall never forget you. Skyrim shall never have others as heroic and noble. Skyrim will never be the same without you."

As her voice died down, I watched Waylas run a hand over his eyes quickly, trying to hide the spilled tears. Erik's face was staunch, and stony. He suddenly raised his arm and placed a fist over his heart before bowing deeply towards the graves. With that, he turned to us, kissing both Malexa and me on the cheek before gripping forearms with Waylas. He limped back to the royal party, which slowly drifted away.

Malexa was the next to leave, pressing her fingertips to the graves with her eyes closed before wishing Waylas and me good tidings, kissing us on the cheek. She mounted her horse and slowly crossed the hills as the aurora began to shine over us.

Waylas put his arm around me and held me tightly as I cried into his shoulder. "Just let it out," he said quietly. "It's just the way things had to be."

"I know," I said when my tears faded away. "I'm fine, Waylas, really." Smiling, I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "You should head back - you wanted to be in Whiterun as soon as possible, aye?"

"Aye." He smiled, and pressed his lips to my forehead. "Well, occupy yourself. It makes no sense for you to be nursing your grief."

"Yes, big brother," I said teasingly. He squeezed my hand and turned to where his sweetheart, a tall, beautiful Dunmer with clever eyes, stood, holding the reins of two hardy Skyrim horses.

Soon, it was just me, two graves, and the aurora. I paused, clenching my fists, closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath.

"_HUN KAAL ZOOR_."

The signs of summonings faded into existence, the swirling spheres making the breeze move faster. As they faded, I smiled to see the ice blue eyes of my mother, and my father's silver streaked red hair. The dragonplate armor of my mother made her seem even more unearthly and regal, while the golden plate that adorned my father seemed almost uncomfortably at odds with his personality. He was still strikingly handsome.

"Aeta," the Dragonborn said gently. The High King reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. His touch was cold on my skin.

"Mama. Father," I sighed. "I'm not going to call you again, but...I wanted to say goodbye. Properly."

My mother smiled. "Oh, my little fox," she murmured, "we are so proud of you, and your Voice has become so strong."

"Yes, your mother won't be quiet about that one," my father said, a twinkle in his green eyes. The Dragonborn gave him a mock glare, a smile tugging at her lips. He winked at her. "But we are extraordinarily proud of you. Especially your archery," he added under his breath. Mama did reach out and smack him on the breastplate then, but she never took her eyes off of me.

"Have you told your siblings about your thu'um yet?" she asked. I hesitated before shaking my head.

"No. I don't want to draw attention to myself at the moment." A smile spread across my face. "I am perfectly happy to live in anonymity as the fourth child of the heroes of Skyrim."

Mama smiled and kissed me on the cheek. It left a sensation that was not unpleasant, but strange nonetheless. "We are being called back to Sovngarde, little fox. We will await you there."

"Goodbye, love," Father said, the pride glowing in his eyes as we gazed at each other. "You will do great things."

We exchanged smiles, and I determinedly held in my tears as the summoning circles reappeared, taking my parents back to Sovngarde. Looking up at the sky and the rippling waves of light that illuminated the plain, I brushed away the wetness with the back of my hand.

Yes, the Dovahkiin and the High King, the Stros M'Kai native and the Rorikstead farmer, were exactly where they belonged: together.

_THE END_

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**A/N: And that's all, folks. Thanks for sticking with the story through all this; I really appreciate all you readers and reviewers. Your opinion is always appreciated.**

**I really had a lot of fun writing and imagining for this; having an audience made it all the better. Take care!**


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